Dishwater Blond
by sawruhr
Summary: "He felt naked. Well, he kind of was, at least from the waist up. It's hard to find shirts with holes to accommodate extra limbs, particularly growing out of one's back." Takes place after Warren jumps out of the clinic.
1. Dishwater Blond

**First story. Just something that popped into my head. Forgive me if some details seem odd, I don't really follow X-Men other than the movies and have never been to Brooklyn or NYU. And since I don't own the X3 DVD, a few things might be off, like where the clinic is located and whatnot. I don't own Warren or X-Men. Just Cameron, who's kind of based off a very minor character from T:TSCC (no, not Cameron) who I also don't own. **

**:::  
**

He felt naked. Well, he kind of was, at least from the waist up. It's hard to find shirts with holes to accommodate extra limbs, particularly growing out of one's back.

Warren Worthington had just jumped out of a building, and frankly, it was probably the best damn thing he's done his entire life. It was the first time he had truly felt free, the rush of wind blowing into him as he swept down, missing the crowd of mutants and humans alike on the ground.

But, as they say, all good things much come to an end. Warren never got to enjoy life that much.

After the initial elation and spontaneity had passed, the blond haired man felt a pang of worry, mostly for his father's reaction and for his current situation. What was he to do now? Just soar above Manhattan, trying to stay inconspicuous while the rest of New York City went on with life? He glanced down, acutely aware of how high he was, and more than a little uncomfortable with it. He tried to stay away from flying. His father didn't like it.

Pedestrians, of all races, both genders, all ages, and probably human and not, were rushing along the streets, almost like ants milling about a farm. Warren frowned, watching a car move past a traffic light and allowing more people to crowd the crosswalk, moving to fill the spot previously occupied by the vehicle. No, not like ants. More like cockroaches.

Brushing these thoughts away, the college student tried to focus on what to do about his current predicament. He needed a coat, a sheet, something to cover his wings. Then he could make it back to his dorm, which unfortunately was located in one of the busiest parts of the Washington Square campus. He couldn't land there, as much as he craved security in his own dwelling.

Unconsciously, the winged man wavered higher in the sky near the clouds, his breath hitching and body tensing in response to the altitude and chill that came with it. It didn't bother him, not really. It just felt _strange_. Straining to keep calm (which was growing increasingly hard since his wings were starting to ache and flap with less ferocity as before), Warren focused on the ground, which was even more distant than before because of his distance. Coming up, he realized, was the East River. He was heading toward Brooklyn.

Shielded as a child (both because of his mutation and because his father saw him as somewhat fragile), Warren had no real knowledge of the boroughs, other than Manhattan and Staten Island, which were more so tourist traps than anything else. Not sure what to take this as, Warren glided lower, deciding to find somewhere isolated in Brooklyn to land. Besides, it's not like anyone really pays attention to the sky.

He almost collapsed in the littered alley, the only area with less pedestrians than cars. The street further down was quiet, with just one or two cars passing by every now a then. It helped that it was around 9 AM (that's when his father wanted to meet).

Kneeling on the ground, fingers curled against the concrete, Warren tried to gather his bearings and pull himself together. Even though people _knew _about mutants, Warren didn't want to be confronted about it. He just couldn't deal with that right now. Breathing in and out for a moment, trying to regain his composure, Warren slowly rose to his feet, almost stumbling.

Filth, all around him. Littered McDonald's bags, Pepsi cans, convenient store bags, all the such, scattered about for no reason. Warren's nose scrunched up. And an awful smell.

Not willing to brood at the moment (which was actually something he use to do quite often, especially when his little _problem _forced him to isolate himself from his peers), the blond tucked his wings closer to his back, always appreciative that they fit so well against his back. Trying to gather up some optimism, Warren paced down the alley, away from the street and toward the bend that was coming up. Just as he turned, and was feeling juiced up and ready to help himself, he was faced with a woman, no girl, fumbling with a brown paper bag, a backpack hanging off one of her shoulders. She was walking toward him, focused entirely on the contents of the bag, the paper crinkling as her fingers handled it.

Warren's mouth hung open for a second, and he felt frozen in place. A part of him screamed to turn and run, which would only lead to the street and _more _people, and another part said to take flight, which was almost impossible since he could feel the same weightlessness in his wings as one would in their legs after walking for so long.

Warren did what the old Warren would do. He stood completely still, staring at the girl with his best neutral expression, and hoping she would walk by him like he was never there. It didn't work.

She glanced up, one hand moving to brush dishwater blond hair from the side of her face, most likely to make sure she knew where she was going. Only to almost walk right into the very still Warren.

Abruptly, like a spring snapping, the girl froze and reeled back, eyes wide and dry lips open just a bit. She was wearing a moss green coat and looked like she had just got done rifling through a dumpster. The brown boots on her feet were covered in dark splotches (which, Warren decided, looked unnaturally _shady_), and a black skirt with frayed edges hung on her hips, barely reaching mid-thigh. The coat, which Warren noted with contained excitement, was rather long, reaching the girl's knees as it covered most of her purple plaid dress shirt.

"Who are you?" barked the girl, her voice having a rough sort of tone that seemed almost forced. Her moss colored eyes were boring into his own cobalt ones, but he could see her gaze flitting on his entire form, then freezing at the spot over his shoulders.

"Holy shit," she breathed, fingers now barely holding the paper bag as she stared unwavering at the slight arch of his wings that peaked slightly over his shoulder, not as easily hidden without the faux-leather harnesses.

"Holy shit," she repeated. Warren was unsure of what to say, how to respond, but he knew he needed that jacket. It was almost lucky to find something to cover himself with just when he landed, and he wasn't going to pass it up, no matter how buggered out he felt.

"Can I borrow your jacket?" he asked, trying to sound commanding but non-threatening. He didn't want to come off as a mutant thug, or whatever it was that roamed the streets nowadays, not that he would really know. The girl tensed up once again, eyes now looking into his, and one eyebrow raised.

"You're a mutant, aren't you," she stated, and her entire figure seemed to almost relax. "And by those designer jeans, I bet you're just some rich kid who fell out of the sky because his hair was experiencing wind burn." Her lips pulled into a smug smile, and Warren almost felt threatened, realizing that he was wrong to categorize her as just a girl. Her entire demeanor reminded Warren of the women who attended his college, the ones who would bare their teeth and bite into one another with the barbarity of wild animals, fighting over anything from makeup to men.

"Please," started Warren, hesitant on how to really respond to her statements and current smirk. "If you let me borrow your coat, I can be out of your way."

"You already are, freak," huffed the girl, rolling her eyes as if he was a child who was trying to mug someone twice their size on the playground. Without waiting for his response, she moved to stalk past him, now entirely ignoring his presence, which, Warren though idly, was exactly what he wanted moments ago. Now panicking, and afraid that he would never get such another chance, Warren felt his temper peak, which almost never happened. This was his only chance, he had a shitty start to the day, what with his own father trying to _cure _him of his mutation (which Warren was seeing as less and less of a disease) and now this girl was treating him like scum. Just as the girl passed him, the smell of a strong type of trashy perfume wafting into his nose, Warren's wings unconsciously twitched and fluttered, the edge of one jumping out to hit the girl in the abdomen.

Letting out a cry of surprise or pain (Warren wasn't too sure which), the girl was thrown to the floor, paper bag dropping onto the ground and dark backpack now barely in her grasp. Hair sprawled out behind her, and coat exposing her entire figure, the girl was splayed out on the ground, eyes closed and clutching her abdomen, groaning.

Horrified to see what he had done, especially since he was a generally amiable man, who would rather turn the other cheek and walk away than start something, Warren quickly moved to kneel by the girl's side. Hands hovering above her form, conflicted with what to do, Warren looked nervously at the girl's pained expression.

"I'm sorry, I just-" Warren tried to gauge her reaction; she was growing red, eyebrows scrunching down.

"Piss off!" she barked, eyes snapping open as she struggled to get up. Thinking quick, Warren reached out to pull off her jacket, hoping to grab it and run. If he could just get it off, he would sprint down the alley and jump the towering fence blocking off the way. Once she felt his hand on her shoulder, the girl started thrashing, batting at his hands.

"Get offa' me, birdboy!" barked the girl. Warren turned his focus to her, to try and placate her by explaining his reasoning, but once he met her gaze, her left fist came swinging out and caught him in the jaw, causing him to flop to the side from the force. With his left hand no longer on her shoulder, the girl jumped up with surprising speed and dashed down the alley and around the curve toward the street, her belongings abandoned after her fall. Knowing that the pain could wait, Warren pushed himself up, and with his longer legs and athletic figure (which he felt was really thanks to his mutation since he seldom played sports) managed to reach her in just a second, wrapping his arms just below her chest and heaving her up to stop her from running.

Holding the blond as best he could while she struggled and bucked in his hold, Warren felt vaguely ashamed at what he had been reduced to, but knew this was necessary to return home. He frowned. Was it? Didn't this just further breed hate for mutants?

There was a sharp pain under his ribs, just where the girl elbowed him, and Warren used this as an excuse to let go, pushing her slightly away so that his back was now to the street, blocking her exit.

Breathing heavily, the girl reached inside her jacket to pull out a switchblade, gesturing at him with the point.

"Get out of here freak, I don't want any trouble," she sputtered, looking furious yet at the same time notably nervous. Her hair was in an even more state of disarray than when he first saw her, and her clothes looked rumpled and disheveled.

Holding out his hands, palm side up, Warren tried to plead a mock surrender.

"Easy," he appeased, "I just need to borrow your jacket, that's all I want." If anything, the girl's glare grew and she bared her teeth.

"The coat's mine so you can just screw yourself because I'm not giving it up. Now out of the way before I shank you." She prodded the knife in his direction. Shank? Did people even use that word?

"I can pay you," offered Warren, knowing full well his wallet was with his trench coat he left back at his father's clinic. The only thing he had in his pockets was a stick of gum and his key chain with his car and room keys, all particularly useless at the moment. This seemed to catch the girl's interest, as her body peaked back and head tilted slightly.

"How much?"

"I-I don't know, one hundred?" he guessed, not entirely sure how much would make her give him the coat. The girl eyed him for a moment.

"Gelled hair, clean jeans, shining shoes. I'd say you're pretty well off. Three hundred." Warren knew he was being ripped off. He wasn't stupid just because he had a lot of money. He just realized $300 was a deal considering the fact he had _wings _growing out of his back. The blond nodded once.

"Fine." With that, he stuck out his hand, expecting to receive the coat. The girl just gave him a suspicious look.

"I want to see the money first," she stated. For all Warren knew, the coat didn't fit him. He could just forget it and rest, then gear up later to fly around and find a sheet or something hanging out on a line to dry. Anything else. But, Warren was already to hyped up, and unwilling to go searching if he could help it.

"It's…I don't have it on me," he said, and the girl looked about ready to blow a gasket, so he motioned with his palms up again. "But, if you help me, I can mail you it, or, or something." The girl barked out a laugh.

"I can't believe this shit. Well you're not getting anything from me buddy," spat the girl, shaking her head is dismissal.

"My name is Warren Worthington, my father is one of the richest men in the city. I live at a dorm in Manhattan, I can get you the money," ranted Warren, just about at the end of his patience. The girl stared at him for a moment, as if gauging his entire person. Then, after a brief but subtle nod, she straightened her posture and flipped the blade in before tucking it down into her shirt, presumably inside her bra. With no words, she shrugged off the coat and threw it at the winged man, which he caught in momentary surprise. It couldn't be this easy. Nothing in Warren's life ever was.

Hastily, as if he was afraid it would disappear, Warren slid the coat on, pressing his wings, now slightly hanging open, closer to his back. It would've been more effective with the harnesses, but he would have to make do for now. Just as he got one arm in, Warren realized the coat wouldn't stretch enough to cover his chest and wasn't long enough to reach the tips of his wings that were mid-calf. The coat fit over the back of his wings, but left several inches exposed at the bottom, and bared his muscled chest to the elements, an overall very awkward look. Hanging his head in disappointment, Warren pursed his lips to try and stay calm, not freak out. He would have to find another way.

Slowly, he pulled the coat off and held it out for the girl.

"It won't fit," he mumbled, feeling absurdly stupid for all the dependency he had put on one coat. If he was less clouded by his clingy hope, he would realize that in relation, the girl was several inches shorter than himself, and had a more slender body, thus the coat may look large on her, but be tight on him.

"Not surprised," spoke the girl, nodding her head with a slight look of arrogance. Warren glanced up to see her eying him with a smirk.

"I can help you get a sheet or something. For an extra hundred," offered the girl, now crossing her arms over her chest. Warren stared at her, now withholding what little hope he had, the useless coat still hanging from his hand.

"How?" he asked, steeling his voice to keep out the frustration. The girl's smirk grew.

"I have my ways. Put the coat back on, it helps a bit." With that, the girl turned and rounded the corner, heading back the way she came. Eyes widening, Warren hurried after her, reaching her while she was busying herself with the bag and backpack she dropped when he accidentally hit her with his wing. That's what it was, an accident. Warren hated to think it was something else.

"What are you doing?" he asked, because it was the only thing he could really say at the moment. His mind was a whole clutter of thoughts, from whether or not denying the cure was right to how in hell could he ever face his father again . The girl raised her eyebrow at him, slowing getting up from her crouch as she swung the brown backpack over her shoulder.

"Uh, what does it look like? Helping you cover those feathery whites, duh," said the girl, as if he had asked her a ridiculous question like what color boots she was wearing.

"I don't even know your name," protested Warren, knowing full well that he shouldn't look a gift-horse in the mouth, but he was fed up with the girl's attitude and lip.

"Cameron. Now put on the coat, and let's go birdboy," she said, in the same 'duh' voice. Honestly, Warren wasn't very surprised; the masculine name fit her quite well. Cameron turned and walked toward the dumpster Warren fancied she had been sifting through (and tried to cover up, horribly, with that trashy perfume) and pushed herself atop it, looking ready to jump the fence that the dumpster was set against.

Wondering why such bad luck always befell him, and why he had jumped out of the window without grabbing his coat, Warren pulled the green jacket on, a tight fit, and hastened to climb up the dumpster just as Cameron was climbing over the chain linked fence with practiced ease.

**:::**

**Reviews would be appreciated since I'd like to know how my first story went, haha. I don't think I'll add to this, but I hesitate to call it a oneshot. **


	2. Low Security

**Guess I am continuing. Sorry if it's not that great, I kind of rushed. Thanks for the review Mandje002! (:**

**:::**

Cameron was, to put it lightly, an arrogant bitch. Well, not _entirely_. Warren tried to see the best in people, he really did. He seldom judged on appearance (seeing how he probably looked shady for wearing trench coats all the time) and withheld judgment until he really knew a person. And right now, it was easy to tell what kind of person Cameron was.

On the outside, she looked like any other teenager; faded highlights in her knotted hair, hooker-esque boots, a miniskirt that would put Supergirl to shame, and an assortment of neon bracelets and fake silver rings (none of which, Warren was relieved to know, scratched his face when she punched him in the jaw). She was pretty looking, if Warren had to say, with full lips and long lashes, the remaining smudges of makeup subtle. But, there was a permanent expression of some sort of egoism, such that the mutant felt _uneasy _just by looking her in the eye. He didn't trust Cameron. No, he really didn't.

As they walked through multitudes of narrow streets, climbing rusty fences that blocked their path, she joked throughout, mostly about mutants. There were scathing remarks and stories, meant to be humorous and taken lightly, but instead, somehow irked Warren. He should be use to it, mutant-hate was national, but every time Cameron opened her mouth to give another "Three mutants walk into a bar", Warren wanted to shout.

"This guy was shooting lasers from his eyes, all stocky and shit. Not that I was afraid or anything. I kick ass in a fight, and-"

"How old are you?" blurted out Warren. He hadn't meant to ask her that (Well, he was kind of wondering. He didn't want people, if they saw him, to think he was some kind of pedophile too. Imagine _that _on the news.) Cameron stopped walking, and Warren almost stepped into her, expecting her to completely ignore his question. She turned to look at him, raising a thin eyebrow.

"How old are _you?_"she retorted, bringing her pink painted nails to rest on her hips, jutting them out and leaning slightly, accenting her chest. She even stood like a hooker. For an entirely too long second, Warren wondered if she actually _was _a hooker. He tried to scrub away those thoughts, focusing on his age. Now was _not _the time to be thinking about hookers.

"Twenty-one," he answered truthfully, a slight movement of his shoulders. Cameron nodded appreciatively, some stringy hair getting into her vision, prompting her to brush them back behind her pierced ear.

"Cool. You can buy me a drink one day," she remarked, turning and strutting away, a slight bounce in her step. Flabbergasted, Warren marched after her, falling in step beside the human.

"What about you?"he pressed. _God_, he hoped she wasn't underage and wandering around dressed like that. That would raise too many questions he didn't really care for but knew his guilty conscience would force him to find answers to.

"Eighteen," was the flippant response. Warren let out an inward sigh of relief. At least he didn't look like a pedophile now, not that that really mattered in the current situation. He furrowed his eyebrows. Why was it so hard for him to stay on track with one thought? Must be the anxiety, he reasoned.

"You go to school? College?" questioned Warren, more so to make conversation than anything else. He highly doubted she of all people would be interested in education.

"Nope," responded Cameron, looking straight ahead as they walked down an empty, thin street, every pile of black trashbags they came across almost screaming biohazard

"I'm a free girl. Material possessions slow one down," she said, her voice growing wistful as she tried to sound philosophical. Warren resisted the urge to roll his eyes. Says the girl that is trying to weasel $400 out of him.

"Heard there's a pretty nifty school in New York for muties though. You go there?"added Cameron, not really sounding interested at all.

"No," responded Warren, but he filed away this little tidbit for the future. A school for mutants? That sounded…campy. And it was coming from Cameron's mouth, so only God knows how true it is.

"Where are we going?"asked Warren, now aware that Cameron was leading him to more and more shambled streets and alleys, none of which looked like the best place to even be _walking_. A fine layer of mud caked the pavement and every few feet someone had dropped a paper cup or takeout bag, all pressed into the ground in response to so many feet stepping upon them.

"I know a place. Low security. Get in, get out," stated Cameron, smirking ahead. Unsure of what she meant, Warren opened his mouth to raise another question but all of a sudden Cameron stopped, and jutted her arm out to impede him as well. He felt the tips of her thin fingers press against his abs, her hand oddly cold despite the warm weather. They were at a T section, an alley on both their right and left. Cameron was looking both ways as if checking for traffic, twisting her head in both directions suspiciously.

"I believe it's-" She paused, stretching the last word out. "Right." With that, she turned and walked past him, her absent fingers leaving his skin feeling almost prickly.

:::

"Okay," asserted Cameron, taking full command as she stood in front of the glass door to a shop with an unreadable sign on top; it was just barely hanging on by the nails which looked to be rusted and overall sloppy since they were screwed in at an angle. They were out in broad daylight, something that made Warren flinch every time a car passed by or a person shambled along on the other side of the street. No one seemed to notice him, thankfully because they were too preoccupied with themselves and if Warren had to guess, it was only 10 AM. Adding that they weren't on any main road (he assumed), he was practically invisible. This did nothing to ease his tension, as he attempted to pull the coat closer across his bare chest. He only managed to hear a couple of seams pop.

"We go in, follow me. Be cool, not all freaky birdboy mutant, 'kay?" Cameron ordered. Not waiting for his response, or lack thereof, she climbed the two step stoop and pushed the door open, a single bell chiming as they entered.

First, it smelled. Like a mix of scented candles and, Warren winced, piss. _Augh_. Cameron didn't seem to notice, ignoring not only the smell but the young cashier at the other side of the shop who sent her a cautious look, a Playboy magazine blatantly obvious in his gangly hands. She marched to the aisle at the back of the store. As he followed, Warren realized all the shelves were made of chipped wood that was in bad need of a glossing. The entire place looked musty, and everything was in natural tones, the lighting sucked, and Warren wondered where the hell he was. This couldn't be a drugstore. _Hell no_.

Upon reaching Cameron's location, Warren found her sifting through a set of clothing hanging against the wall, from patterned trousers to vintage skirts. And trench coats. Beautiful, long, trench coats. Cameron grabbed the lengthiest one, a beige color with odd subtle stains and frayed edges, and placed it up against his person with a critical eye.

"Looks like a fit. Let's get out of here," she said quietly, before she pulled her backpack around and unzipped it. Warren's blue eyes widened as he watched her begin to jam the coat into her bag while creeping to the end of the aisle. Knowing words wouldn't stop her, Warren reached forward to grab Cameron's upper arm, pulling her away from the aisle's edge.

"What are you doing?"he whispered, his anxiety that he tried so hard to quell growing as he searched her mossy eyes for any sense of guilt. She looked excited.

"What does it look like? This place is easy as hell. Now c'mon," she said, raising her eyebrows and grinning. She attempted to pull out of his grasp but he held tight.

"You can't steal," blurted Warren, trying to keep his voice down, aware that the cashier was only a couple of yards away in the cramped shop. Not only did his thoughts wander, but now he was saying things without thinking. He really was starting to lose it.

Cameron's amusement turned to mild annoyance. "What's your problem? I'm trying to help you, now let go." Warren shook his head. He wasn't going to stoop so low as to steal. It may be the easiest way out of his current predicament, but it was…_immoral! _It didn't feel right, and although Cameron would no doubt judge him for his decision, he just couldn't take something with a flick of his wrist. Maybe it was his upbringing, or social status, or pride, but it didn't feel _right_.

"I'm not letting you do this," he said steadily, pulling the trench coat out of her half zipped bag and holding it out behind him. "There are other ways."Cameron started pulling against his hold, eyes now on his hand that was firmly wrapped around her upper arm.

"Let me go," she hissed out, the aggravation now sounding more like…nervousness? Yes, Warren conceded, that had to be it, nervousness. She was afraid they would get caught.

"Is there a problem here?" Speak of the devil. The young cashier with greasy hair and oddly cut stubble was standing a few feet from the aisle's end, giving the two a hard look. It wasn't that intimidating, considering the cashier looked about 16.

"No, my sister and I were just leaving," responded Warren, forcing a smile on his face; his father had taught him a lot about putting on a face. Not waiting for Cameron's reaction, he stuffed the coat into the clothes rack (hearing it drop) and rushed past the cashier who was giving him a "yeah, you better run" glare. Cameron, to Warren's relief, stumbled after him, arm still in his hand as they stepped out of the store.

Pretty sure she wouldn't try anything he deemed inappropriate, Warren let go, and Cameron immediately jumped away, wrapping her free hand around the spot he was holding earlier. To his utter confusion, instead of spitting out obscenities or insulting him, Cameron looked – frightened. Stunned. She started to back away.

"You've got a good grip," she muttered humorlessly before turning and stalking away as fast as possible without running. Confused, Warren hurried after her, one part of his mind screaming he was way better off alone and another wondering why the cashier didn't notice his more than obvious wings trailing from under the jacket. He really needed to focus.

"Hey, what's wrong?" he called, quickly falling into step with her. She was still clutching the spot on her arm he had held her by. Her entire body looked diminutive, a start contrast to her earlier bravado through posture.

"Leave me alone," she bit out, not even looking at him, before turning into the alley they had previously passed through. Even more confused, and starting to reach the end of his patience, Warren strode past her until he blocked her path.

"What's wrong with you?" he scowled, furrowing his eyebrows. He didn't want to be harsh, or anything of that sort, but he had a few pressing problems to deal with and she wasn't exactly helping like she had promised. Cameron finally brought her eyes up to his, full of hostility and…hurt? Warren may have been good with putting on a façade but he wasn't very talented in reading people, no matter how much his father trained him.

"Get out of my damn way!"she barked, pushing past him, her hand now squeezing her upper arm. Following her with his eyes, Warren felt something hit him, realization dawning. Quickly, he jogged to catch up with her near-run stride and once again stepped to block her path, catching both her shoulders with his hands.

"Get off me!" This wasn't a bark. It was a cry. She tried to shake him off, but Warren needed to know what was going on.

"What's wrong? Are you okay?" he asked, leaning over to reach eye level with her, and using the softest voice he could manage at the moment. Okay, stupid question. Of course she wasn't okay, she just did a 180 on the mood wheel. Not that Warren really cared, he just felt it was the right thing to ask.

"I'm fine, now let go!"she wasn't looking at him, rather, her eyes were flitting right and left to his hands that he had placed on her shoulders to hold her in place. It all snapped into place.

"Someone hurt you," breathed Warren. It was not a question. His eyes flickered to where her hand gripped her arm.

"I hurt you," he stated, easing up so his hands were now simply resting on her shoulders. "I'm sorry." Sometimes, Warren didn't know his own strength, he really didn't. He had a suspicion that it all had to do with his mutant ability. Some days, he snapped a pencil in half while writing, other days, his glass would shatter if he just tightened his grip. He didn't like to dwell on it, especially when he had spent most of his life pretending he was just like everyone else.

"Leave me alone," hissed Cameron, now looking him in the eye with animosity, almost as if she was ready to lash out. Warren steeled his gaze. He didn't particularly like Cameron, but from her behavior he had to guess she had been abused or something to that effect. Her reaction was too strong. Once again his eyes drifted to her upper arm. He hoped he didn't bruise it. That would be another accident.

"I'm sorry. I don't know my own strength, it has to do with my mutation. Sometimes, sometimes things happen and I don't mean them to. Do you understand? I didn't mean to hurt you, that was never my intention," he explained, trying to show some sympathy. It wasn't that it was difficult, it was just not as easy as he expected. Those damn mutant jibes kept ringing about in his head, keeping his distrust of her fueled. Cameron shrugged out of his loose hold and backed away before turning around, her back facing him. There was a moment of silence which Warren found to be ridiculously long, adding to his long list of grievances at the moment. He took a deep breath. He needed to relax, it wasn't like he was on a schedule. Deal with the now, which was currently Cameron.

"You tried to steal my jacket from me. What makes that store any more different?" Warren blinked at her monotone.

"I planned to return it. I said I would borrow it," he asserted, knowing it sounded stupid to anyone but himself. Cameron let out a humorless chuckle and slowly turned to face him, hands at her side and one strap of her brown bag hanging off her shoulder.

"You're really weird, you know?" she said, giving him a grim smile. Warren just shrugged and offered her a forced lopsided smile, but not like his father taught him.

**:::**

**Cameron is starting to look more and more like Jody...I don't own Jody (who Cameron is _based_ on. She isn't actually Jody) or T:SCC, I swear! Heehee, please review, thanks. **


	3. Olive Garden

**Thanks for the reviews, they really inspire me to continue. :]**

**:::  
**

"So, what's it like flying?" chirped Cameron, the food in her mouth nearly falling out. She didn't take time to swallow and instead popped another fry between her chapped lips, chewing loudly with her mouth open. Warren spared her a glance, trying not to scrunch up his nose in disgust at her eating habits. What was it about her that always seemed to annoy him?

"It's hard to explain," he answered tersely, shifting against the building he was leaning against. Well, it really wasn't but he doubted Cameron would appreciate his thoughtful, poetic description. Across from him, swinging her legs from her perch on a concrete half-wall, Cameron snorted and rolled her green eyes.

"Typical guy," she remarked, smirking yet at the same time managing to swallow the fries she had snagged earlier, before Warren had interrupted her dumpster diving adventure. Warren furrowed his eyebrows at her comment but decided to not question it. They were taking a break, mostly due to Cameron complaining about how hungry she was and making over exaggerated groaning sounds of pain while clutching her abdomen. Warren could understand, he was starting to feel hungry, he hadn't even had breakfast because he was so nervous, but unlike the other blond, he knew there were much more important things than food at the moment.

"You remember that school you mentioned? The mutant one?" asked Warren hesitantly, breaking what he felt was awkward silence.

"Yeah?" responded Cameron, poking around in her paper bag for any fries she missed.

"Is it like some sort of training place? Or like an actual school, only private. Like for people with special needs. Is there an age limit?" he babbled, starting to get a bit wide-eyed, the implications of a mutant school whirring in his head.

Cameron shrugged, peeking inside the bag with a squint. "Don't know, don't care. Heard about it in one of Magnet's speeches. You know, that dude with the funny hat and cape." She laughed to herself, shaking the paper bag a bit. Warren, like almost everyone else on the planet, knew about the aptly named mutant Magnet_o_. Infamous for terrorist activity and squabbling for attention, he was practically a celebrity in the mutant world. Not that Warren would know much about that, considering he wasn't even part of the mutant world until today. He sighed. Did he even _want _to be part of it. It didn't look exactly welcoming.

"Why are you so worried about people seeing those wings of yours?" asked Cameron suddenly, bag now forgotten amongst the other litter on the pavement. "That loser at the thrift store didn't even notice." Which Warren tried not to think about. The cashier probably didn't see because of the shoddy lighting but if he was to ever get back to his dorm, he would need to look inconspicuous.

"I have to get home in broad daylight," he provided, crossing his arms over his bare chest. Cameron raised one neat eyebrow.

"Right. Why don't you just fly at night? Afraid of hitting a plane?" She chuckled to herself. Warren frowned. He hadn't really thought of that.

"I'd rather be home before it gets dark," he supplied. That was the truth, albeit weak. He wasn't keen on spending the whole day here, no matter how distrustful of his father he was at the moment. Still, he didn't want to really pretend to be Warren Worthington III, son of the man with the mutant cure, billionaire "playboy". Which, he wasn't. A playboy that is. He was still a billionaire, not that he liked to flaunt it.

"Well, just to let you know, if you don't want to steal, I can't help you," quipped Cameron, crossing her legs and, as if on habit, leaning forward to accentuate her bust. Warren looked away.

"Isn't there a lost and found…place? Or, I don't know, a shelter, a church?" he pressed, growing impatient. They were sitting around doing nothing when he could be on his way home! He heard Cameron jump onto the ground.

"I got it!" she piped, breaking out into a grin. "C'mon." Not waiting for his response, she hurried down the alley, prompting Warren to follow with haste.

**:::**

"Where exactly are we going?" Once again they were out on the streets, fortunately, empty, but still disconcerting nonetheless. Cameron scoffed.

"_Obviously_, we're going to get you something to wear. And I know just the place," she snapped, giving him a side-glare. Warren resisted the urge to return it, not only because it was out of character for someone like him, but because he was sure he would be the first to back down if it came to a staring match. They came to a crosswalk, allowing an army green sedan to make a turn, the driver chatting into her cellphone. No need to rush, the two strolled along the crosswalk, startled by a sudden shout.

"Yo, Cameron!" Both blonds snapped their heads to right to see a group of men and women congregating on a stoop in front of an apartment building, smoke hovering above them from the cigarettes they had lit.

"Shit," grumbled Cameron, shifting her brown backpack on her shoulder. She reached for Warren's wrist and started to pull him along.

"Just ignore them," she warned, purposefully staring straight ahead. Warren looked from Cameron to the group, then back at the girl pulling him.

"Cameron." A man had come up beside them, dark hair tinged with green and wearing a loose black sweatshirt and jean shorts that rode entirely _too _low. "How you doin', girl?" He moved to block her way, not as tall as Warren but nonetheless towering over Cameron. Warren groaned inwardly. Please, not a thug. This was only suppose to happen on TV.

"Luke," affirmed Cameron, forced to stop but still clutching Warren's wrist. He couldn't help but think of the role reversal. Her face was blank, simply staring at said Luke with no indication of her thoughts or feelings.

"Where've you been? Nina's been lookin' for you. Said you owe her some money," informed the man raising his pierced eyebrows in wonder, a smirk playing on his thin lips.

"I paid her back. I told Marc to give it to her last week, he said he was meeting her at your place," said Cameron calmly, staring the man straight in the eyes. Luke raised his eyebrows higher in mock surprise.

"Really," he drawled. "I don't remember Marc coming over last week. In fact, I haven't seen him in a while." He turned to look at the group still loitering on the stoop.

"Any of you seen Marcus?" he yelled. There was a clutter of responses, none that Warren could make out. Luke turned to give Cameron an apologetic smile, which looked nothing of the sort.

"Looks like you got your story wrong. But I'm having a good day, so instead of breaking your nose again, I'm going to offer you another job, you get?" Cameron's stare faltered.

"I'm busy," she stressed, tugging on Warren's arm but making no move to leave. Finally, it seemed that Luke noticed Warren's presence because he brought his olive eyes to Warren's own cobalt ones. He leaned his shoulders back and smiled again.

"Who's this? Your new job?" he joked. Oh, _God_, she _was _a hooker. Brain bleach needed, stat. Cameron's earlier stoic attitude was overshadowed by her sudden glare and bared teeth.

"No, now piss off," she snapped, moving to walk around him with Warren in tow. Luke seemed to suddenly tense up, springing to block her path once again with his body.

"Nina still needs her money. You know how she gets," he said, smiling like some sort of shark.

"I'll get it for her later," Cameron seethed. Luke looked like he was about to bring up another complaint and Warren just _didn't have any time for it_.

"Look, Luke was it?" broke in Warren, stepping closer to Cameron so his chest nearly pressed up against her back. "We're kind of on a schedule, so would you mind, please?" Old Warren would have looked for the fastest way to get out without being noticed. Old Warren would have avoided eye contact. Luke's demeanor seemed to go from mock playfulness to irritation.

"Who the hell are you?" he scoffed, crossing his arms over his broad chest.

"Her brother, now-" Luke broke out into laughter cutting Warren off.

"Oh, are you serious?" he laughed, sneering at the pair. "Did she tell you to act like this? Man, I know this bitch hasn't got any family and I _know _you two just wanna get it on." Warren tried not to look surprised, mouth only slightly ajar and blinking twice. He was about to protest, plead his case, when Cameron sent a violent left hook into Luke's nose. Sadly, there was no sound of cartilage tearing.

However hard Cameron's hit was, it only knocked Luke back a step, but it was enough for Cameron to rush past him, dragging a stunned Warren along. Holding back groans of pain, Luke made to grab Warren's shoulder, and in reflex, Warren's wings lashed out, only to cause more of the coat seams to rip. Jumping back in surprise at the sudden _appendage _that brushed his leg, Luke stared horrified at the wings now partially on display, creating a sort of "hump" on Warren's back.

"What-what the f-" Warren swung his right arm around to smash Luke in the jaw, enough force to knock the green haired man onto the floor. Without hesitating, especially after the group at the stoop started to shout, Cameron and Warren ran, sprinting across the road and down the sidewalk.

:::

"Who," breathed Warren, running his hand through his light hair, "was that?" He and Cameron had snuck into an apartment building, sifting into the shadows of the public hall. Across from Warren, Cameron was bent over, clutching her knees and gulping for air.

"Holy," she breathed, "shit. Aren't you tired?" Warren blinked.

"No. Who was that?" he replied, shifting his footing. Cameron let out a tight laugh, tossing some dishwater blond hair over her thin shoulder but still holding onto her knees.

"Just a friend. Well, you know, ex-friend," she responded flippantly, moving to make a casual waving gesture with her right hand. Warren's eyebrows furrowed in thought. He allowed the silence, only filled with Cameron's heavy breathing, to reign, going over her response.

Hesitantly, as if stepping through a field of broken glass barefoot, he asked, "Did he...Is he the one that hurt you?" He hadn't wanted to ask. He really didn't. There just wasn't enough time to dally in another person's life when he had his own to worry about, especially at a time like this. But he did. He did ask; it just blurted out and he needed to know, whether to satisfy his own curiosity or not, he was unsure.

Cameron laughed, but it didn't quite reach her eyes.

"Luke? Naaah, he's a big pansy on the inside. Got his ass beat by two chicks a while ago," she supplied, her smile drooping but nonetheless aimed at him. Like reassurance. Warren simply stared at her.

"He said he broke your nose," he said. His gaze immediately dropped from her eyes to her nose, searching for any anomaly. She was wearing concealer (for blemishes, bruises?), but there was an subtle bend in the cartilage of her nose. You wouldn't notice if you weren't looking for it. Cameron laughed again.

"Yeah, got me right in the face. Blood everywhere, just gushing out and shit," she stated, allowing the conversation to drop. Glancing to the hall door that led outside, where the light shined on the floor, Warren stepped closer to Cameron, who by now had straightened up and was leaning against the wall behind her. He shifted a bit closer, as if to share a secret, and stared down at her.

"There're places, you know? For people...women who get abused," he said seriously, hoping she got his point. He wasn't a saint, or some sort of psychologist. He just wanted to make sure he did _something_. Cameron stared up into his eyes for a second with no expression, then her eyebrows dropped like falcons.

"Yeah, like I need your concern," she spat, shoving him in the chest and turning to walk toward the door. Remembering last time, Warren hurried with his long strides to block her way.

"Just listen to me," he pleaded, putting up his palms in mock surrender. She stepped right, he mimicked her, following every shift she made. Realizing the hall was too small and he was blocking the entirety with no intention of letting her pass, Cameron sighed and crossed her arms, jutting one hip out.

"Well?" she snapped, raising her eyebrows in question. Warren paused, unsure of what to say. He hadn't really planned out how to approach her. Today just seemed like one of those days.

"Someone hurt you, and still is, right?" he asked, searching for the right approach. Cameron just stared at him, eyebrows still raised in defiance.

"Right," he replied to himself. "You don't have to be out here on your own. Doing what you do...it's dangerous. You shouldn't have to put up with that." Well, at least it _sounded _like he knew what he was saying. Cameron stood, tapping her foot as if waiting for him to finish. He shifted his posture.

"That's it," he mumbled awkwardly. Cameron nodded her head once.

"Right," she remarked. "You happen to know everything about my life, huh? Doing what I do? And what is it that I do, huh, Birdboy?"

"It's Warren."

Cameron snorted. "I don't care. I'll call you whatever I want, because you need my help. Get use to it." Warren narrowed his eyes at her.

"Is that what you think? That if someone needs help it's okay to treat them anyway you want? Just because they need help?" he questioned, feeling disgusted by her behavior.

"Life's tough, grow up," spat Cameron, glaring up at him. Warren almost laughed. Like he didn't know _that_

"It is," he affirmed, "but there's no need to make it even crappier for yourself or those around you."

"You don't know anything!" barked Cameron, clenching her fists at her sides.

"I don't?" asked Warren before shrugging off the stretched coat off and exposing his wings."I can't even wear a goddamn _t-shirt_ in public. Don't tell me what's tough. I know what tough is." They stared at one another both with heated glares. Warren was the one to break it, glancing down at the coat in his hand.

"I'm sorry," he mumbled, feeling that he had overstepped some invisible bounds. Cameron seemed to relax a bit, sniffing and running a hand through her hair.

"That was stupid," she said, "I'm comparing sob stories with a guy who has wings growing out of his back. This is not exactly the best thing to discuss." She laughed dryly. Warren just offered a small smile.

"I'm going to take you to a shelter. A women's shelter, two blocks down. They usually have old clothes that they give out, I'm sure I can snag you something. Then," she she smiled, though it was still partially a smirk, "You get me my money and I go out for some Olive Garden."

"I'll take you." About now would be the time to start face-palming. Why did this keep happening, today of all days? Cameron stared at him in surprise.

"Seriously?" She broke out into a large smile, teeth and everything. "Awesome, you're definitely getting me all I can eat plus more."

**:::**

**Sorry if it seems like I'm diverging too much from the main X3 storyline, but I want to develop a sort of friendship between the two first. I plan on rejoining the real plot next chapter, hopefully lol. **


	4. Unintentional Eavesdropping

**Thanks for the reviews. They keep me running. (This chapter is a little shorter than usual.)  
**

**:::**

"Marlene!"A dark skinned woman with beaded braids looked up from what seemed to be paperwork to see a short blond girl hurrying toward her across the dingy lobby. The woman, Marlene, nearly jumped up from her seat as an enormous smile took over her face upon seeing Cameron. Trying to stay inconspicuous in the shadows of a large plastic plant, Warren resisted the urge to pull the almost torn coat closer across his chest, watching at the two women half-hugged over the receptionist desk.

"It's so good to see you Cameron. God, it's been like three months. How are you?" babbled Marlene, looking to be about mid-thirties, and unlike Cameron wearing what Warren had to call _appropriate _clothing. The woman exuded warmth, reaching to hold Cameron's hands in her own and offering the younger girl a large white-teeth smile. Cameron returned it, _genuinely_, which Warren wasn't exactly too comfortable with. It wasn't wrong or anything. No. It was just different.

"Better than usual," laughed out Cameron, though it didn't seem like much of a joke in context. Nonetheless, Marlene's smile never wavered as she shook Cameron's hand soothingly.

"Why are you here?" she asked softly, her smile only lowering to suggest the seriousness of the institution she was running.

Catching on to Marlene's worries, Cameron shook her head. "A friend of mine needs help," she explained, gesturing to Warren who looked busy trying to fuse into the wall at this point. Realizing the attention was on him, he gave an awkward smile and a wave of his hand as greeting. Marlene nodded in his direction offering him a reassuring smile before turning her attention back to Cameron.

"Cam, you know we-"

"It's not that. He just needs something to wear. As you can see, captain shirtless didn't get the memo about clothing when he stepped out today," interrupted Cameron, flashing a joking grin, tilting her head a bit to gesture at Warren. Marlene pursed her lips, her smile had vanished.

"Just something from the lost and found," pressed Cameron, her smile also disappearing. "He's not some druggie or anything, he's just…" She trailed off, pursing her lips, as if unsure on what to label what Warren was to her. A friend? Perhaps. She liked him well enough not to stab him whenever he turned his back to her, but she didn't really trust him too much. Ironic since he seemed to trust her just fine (at least that's what she _thought_). Definitely not a stranger, for she was certain that if she ever saw him again on the streets, she would recognize him right away, what with his bright blue eyes, just a tad large forehead, angled features, and his oddly windswept flaxen hair. He reminded Cameron of an actor, his face venturing on various emotions so subtle that she often felt he held the same one for hours at a time. But it was there, the pressing of the lips in worry or thought, the slight raise of brows in question, the almost hesitant quirk of the lips. He probably didn't think she noticed.

"Cameron?" Broken out her thoughts, Cameron shook her head.

"He's-"

"You don't have to explain," assured Marlene quietly, though this assertion was accompanied by her eyebrows knitting together. Cameron gave her friend a thankful smile.

"The lost and found?" she asked, slowly pulling her hands out of Marlene's warm ones. The receptionist nodded, slowly lowering herself back into her seat to resume her job.

"Thanks!" piped Cameron before turning to address Warren. "Come on." He gave her a wide-eyed look, gesturing with his _eyes _over his shoulder, referring to his wings still visible if someone were to just look down or even see him from afar (that is, out of the safety of the shadows). Cameron rolled her eyes and started to stalk toward another door on the right side of the lobby.

"Marlene gets it, don't worry," she brushed off, rolling her eyes in Marlene's direction, indicating the woman had a more understandable attitude toward mutants than even Cameron had. The mocha colored woman returned it with a slight smile, a brief glance at Warren who was starting to skulk out of the shadows, and returned to her work, blocking the two out of her focus.

Upon entering the "lost and found", more like a large sized room packed with boxes and cheap valets packed with articles of clothing in all sizes, Warren and Cameron were met with five women, two of which were having a heated discussion between two clothing racks. They all turned to look at the newcomers, but only one woman, taller than Cameron with a thinner physique and a mass of curly red hair, nodded her head in greeting. Cameron returned it and Warren awkwardly held up his palm in some sort of half-wave. The two dark haired women in the back went back to whispering amongst themselves, none of the conversation audible over the remaining women sifting through clothing or repacking boxes.

Cameron went right ahead to one of the racks to her left, snapping hangers back and forth looking for something to suit her charge. Warren, entirely uncomfortable in the clothes crowded room, cautiously eyed the garments, most of them dirty and torn, nor the best choice for his current situation. He ventured toward the back, more so to reach his comfort zone of shadows provided by the tall valets in the back that anything else.

Unintentionally, hands idling through layers of winter jackets that were nearly kids sized, Warren fell into hearing the conversation by the two women.

"It's in the Williamsburg area, you know? Somewhere on LaFayette. Just be there tonight."

"I will, the building with the red flag, I know, I know. There better be a goddamn good reason for this. I'm tired of this bullshit signing petitions."

"I know. This…this cure thing is getting out of hand."

Warren paused, hands on an article of a clothing as he processed what he just heard. Cure? Mutant cure? What was going on in the building with the red flag? Stepping away from his idle work, he bent around the mass of shirts to look at the two women he had inadvertently eavesdropped on.

"Sorry, but I couldn't help overhear. Are you two talking about the mutant cure?" he spoke, his words nearly stumbling over one another as he tried to compose his rushing questions. The two women jumped at his intrusion before sending him scowls.

"Bugger off," spat one of the women, grabbing the other by the wrist and hurrying past him without another look. The rest of the women in the room glanced at the leaving pair as they yanked the door open and stalked out, allowing it to fall close languidly. They turned simultaneously to look at Warren, but all except Cameron averted their eyes and went back to their searching.

"What was that about?" she near whispered, coming up next to him with clothing draped over her arms.

"I think there's a mutant…thing happening sometime today. Tonight. We need to check it out," he said hurriedly, looking over her shoulder at the door. Cameron's forehead creased.

"We? I don't really care," she stated plainly, holding up one of the pieces of attire, a long navy black coat, to his body. She nodded approvingly.

"This actually might work. It nearly reaches your ankles. Pretty sketchy, huh?" Warren didn't respond, eyes flitting across the floor as he organized his thoughts. He had to be at that building. The sun set around 7 PM. What time was it now? He couldn't go home, not yet. He needed to know what was going on first.

"Uh, Earth to Birdboy. Get your head out of the clouds," said Cameron, laughing at her corny joke. Warren glanced at the coat in her arms before grabbing it and moving past her, scouring the room for belts. He found three, hanging precariously from the edge of a shelf in the corner, but only two had the buckle. Wasting no time, he snatched the two off the shelf and headed for the door.

"Let's go," he said to the lagging Cameron who just rose one eyebrow. She frowned, moving at a leisurely pace to the door.

"Chill, the bathroom's just down the hall."

It turned out Warren _was _heading for the bathroom, but not for the reason Cameron thought. She watched him with vague interest, hopping up to take a seat on the sink, crossing her legs. Seemingly ignoring her presence, Warren stripped off the army green jacket with the ripped seams and tossed it in her general direction. She caught it, then scrunched up her nose at its nearly destroyed state. Warren proceeded to wrap one of the belts around his entire form, including his wings, pulling tightly to press the extra limbs to his back, forcing them near flat. The same was done for the second belt, creating a makeshift harness in place of his old one that broke at the clinic. Taking a deep breath, he shook the navy coat onto himself, surprised how easily it slid on, draping over his feathery wings.

It buttoned, fully buttoned. Warren sighed in relief, straightening out the wrinkles as he turned and shifted in front of the scratched mirrors of the public restroom.

"This is good. Great. Now I have to find that building," he breathed, rolling his shoulders in preparation. Cameron frowned and jumped off the sink, crossing her arms.

"I don't think so. I need my money first. Besides, if you stay here, you're going to have to get home at night. You know, the thing you were trying to avoid," she explained, surprisingly a little too knowing. Warren pressed his lips, staring at his reflection. He would have to. He needed to know what was happening at night.

"I'll get your money, don't worry. I need to get to that building tonight." He made a move to leave the restroom but Cameron had stepped in front of him, holding one hand up to his chest.

"Hang on," she said, sighing in resignation. She used the other hand to dig into her shirt, her bra- Warren looked away, opposite the direction of the mirrors.

"Look." He hesitantly brought his gaze back to her. She was holding two twenty dollar bills.

"I have this because…because we're taking the metro back to your place. That's how I'll get my money, I don't trust you," she explained, giving him a serious look.

Warren didn't hear her. All he could think about was that she had had money all along.

**:::**

**Cliff hanger? Yes, the mutant meeting is the one Magneto oh so dramatically interrupts. **


	5. Bagel

**Sorry for the long wait. I noticed a big plot hole in my story when I was watching X3 on TV recently. Magneto has the mutant meeting BEFORE Warren even jumps out of the clinic…soooo, just assume the Warren scenes happen a day before the Magneto scenes and we're all good. Other than that, thanks for the reviews and enjoy!  
**

**:::  
**

Warren didn't know what it was, but suddenly, everything snapped. He could almost understand for a second why Cameron had enemies. She was lying and manipulative, and his patience was up.

She didn't answer his question, and he didn't expect her to. For a moment, they stood in the restroom, a silence hovering over them. He just stared down at her as she tried to search his dulled eyes for something, perhaps humor.

"You lied to me. This whole time you were lying," mumbled Warren, more to himself than to her. His eyes left hers as he stalked out the restroom, coat hem nearly catching in the door. He couldn't stand there, not now. He actually _trusted _her, for a moment he thought he had met someone that knew him as he was, wings and all.

"Hey!" Cameron shuffled out after him, chasing him down the empty carpeted hall. "I didn't lie. I just left out some info. Besides, I'm just looking out for you, amigo." Warren snapped around and glared at her.

"We're not friends. I was just quick money and you were a means to an end. You can stop pretending." He didn't wait for her reply but simply turned and continued down the hall as she stared after him, mouth ajar. Cameron was using him, it was _so _obvious and he actually tried to trick himself into believing she genuinely wanted to help him after a while.

"You—you asshole!" she screamed, waving her fist at his back, an almost comical scene. Warren continued to walk away, almost (_almost) _feeling guilty.

**:::**

The bustling of midday Brooklyn was a welcome sight. Warren could easily glide along with the human traffic, get lost in the crowd as if he was just like everyone else. The streets were nearly packed, people on their cellphones, drinking their mocha, chatting with those around them, or a combination of the three. It reminded him of Manhattan, and he easily felt at home despite everything that had happened since his day started. Without Cameron, he could easily focus on his own thoughts, formulating a plan for the rest of his day—first, he needed to find the building with the red flag.

A Barnes and Noble was coming up on his left, and he slid in unnoticed by the patrons, all drinking espresso coffee and working on their sleek laptops. He almost laughed aloud, right then. His father use to do that, idling away with business on his laptop, surrounded by college students while young Warren ran around the kids' aisle, touching all the books. He never quite understood why the elder Worthington would do work in a store, but supposed it could have been some sort of midlife crisis thing.

Warren smiled slightly as he wandered through the aisles, coming upon the children's books, fingers gliding idly along the spines.

It didn't take him long to spot the tourism section in the vast bookstore, and he immediately grabbed a map of the Brooklyn borough. He was never quite good at reading such things, so it took him a while to find Williamsburg, and subsequently, his location. Examining the map with a scrupulous eye, the wealthy man traced his current location to Williamsburg, nearly 30 blocks away. That would take him almost an hour. Trying to hold back his groan, stomach now pestering him for_ something_, Warren mentally took in the route he would need to take, and hoped he wouldn't get lost.

It was an uneventful journey, only filled with his own musings and inward grumblings about an empty stomach and itchy wings. By the time the mutant reached Williamsburg, the sun was high in the sky, indicating it was around noon, maybe one. Irritated and exhausted for the first time since he landed, Warren stopped to rest on a stoop, wings angling uncertainly as they always did when he sat. The streets of the area were significantly less crowded, but nonetheless, people still strolled along, some even suspiciously dressed liked him. Across the street two women and a man, all with gelled hair and tattoos stalked by, laughing (_cackling). _The Latino woman with the high ponytail stopped short, her laugh also fading, and turned to look directly at him, her two cohorts following her gaze. It was as if she recognized him.

Warren wasn't sure exactly _what _to do, or _what _to be prepared for. Maybe he was about to be mugged. Maybe assaulted. He simply stared at the woman who was now flashing her teeth in some sort of predator's grin, almost reminding him of Cameron.

"Class 2," she said to the other woman and man, not taking her eyes off of him. "Flight."

They knew he was a mutant. This immediately caused Warren to stand up, hand steadying himself on the stoop railing, trying to calm his speeding heart rate. The Latino woman said something else but he didn't hear it, hands now clammy as he fumbled his way down the stoop steps, unable to take his eyes away from the woman. The other woman with cropped hair just stared at him while the man cracked a smirk, both absolutely calm in response to his caged animal behavior.

They started to cross the street, the Latino woman taking the lead, the heels of her boots ominously stomping on the asphalt.

"Hey." Warren stopped in his retreating tracks, watching the trio now as they stood nearly a foot from him, heads high, so proud of what they were in their leather and fishnet. His mind briefly thought of the man who had broke Cameron's nose, the one with the green hair who's name he couldn't remember right now.

"Where's your mark, Blondie?" It was the man, of Asian descent and almost shorter than the crop haired woman, who asked, nose upturned and tone smug. Warren's blue eyes flicked across each their faces, his mouth slightly agape as he tried to comprehend what exactly was happening. He wished Cameron was here. She would know what to say, what with that big mouth of hers.

"You're a mutant," stated the Latino woman, one eyebrow raised, smirking at him playfully. Her eyes strayed down his body, to his designer shoes, then trailed back up to take in his angled face and upturned hair, and she nodded appreciatively. Warren _prayed _she wasn't checking him out.

"And you're not from around here." It was not a question. Just a confirmation.

"I'm looking for a building. With a red flag. A building with a red flag." No one ever said Warren was exactly _good _with words. The trio shared a look, as if they all had some sort of little secret he was ironically not privy to. Which, they most likely did.

"It's a church," spoke the crop haired woman, shifting in her spot and crossing her arms.

"I heard mutants were having a meeting there tonight." The Asian man snorted, shaking his head. The Latino woman glanced back at him.

"It's at 6 PM. Not a meeting. Just some guy ranting." She smiled at him, once again with that Cameron smile. "See you there, Blondie." They didn't wait for any response from him, turning casually and continuing down the sidewalk as if they never even spoke to him. Warren let out a breath in relief, running a hand though his short hair. He got information _and _was left unharmed. Finally, something positive in the shitty day he's been having.

**:::**

"About time." And there went his luck.

Sitting on the church's steps was Cameron, chewing on a bagel, backpack set down beside her with the old coat hanging out of it.

"You followed me," muttered Warren, exasperated. Cameron rolled her eyes.

"Actually, I got here _way _before you," she bragged, standing up and sidling down the steps, bagel still in hand. Warren tried to ignore her, taking in the church's appearance. The outside brick was covered with moss and the windows looked to be shattered and covered from the inside by ripped curtains. A red flag was tied around the frame of one of the glassless windows, stark against the dull maroons and browns of the rest of the building.

"Sorry about not mentioning the money." Cameron was standing right next to him, neck craned up to look at his face. "And about being sort of a bitch. And calling you an asshole. But I guess that goes with being a bitch." It was brief, clumsy, and totally Cameron. To his own surprise, Warren brushed it off.

"It's fine." He was still slightly miffed, but the separation actually made him realize how entirely _quiet _things were, and how alone he was with his thoughts. He had always been that sort of person, but now, now he didn't want to be. He _liked _talking with Cameron, even though she was mostly annoying and single minded. No one's perfect.

The blond perked up, eyes flashing.

"For real, we're cool?" Instead of answering for herself, she waited for his response. Warren stared at the red flag.

"Just try not to keep things from me. Or lie." Cameron's smile widened and she took hold of his arm in a quick hug.

"No prob, I'll totally be honest," she piped, a bounce in her voice as she went to grab her bag from the top step before coming back to his side.

"Like, I ran away from home because my parents were total control freaks. And sometimes, I go see my younger brother at school, he's eleven." She blurted this all out while taking bites from her bagel, her words getting jumbled. Warren didn't want her to continue; hearing about her life made him…uncomfortable, as if Cameron was a real person who was once a kid like he was, who had feelings just as strong as his, who had fears, who could be weak, who could cry. He didn't like to think about that.

"My dad's sort of like that," he interrupted, the first thing that came to his mind. Cameron froze mid-chew, giving him a raised eyebrow, before continuing.

"I mean, he can be a control freak too," elaborated Warren. Then he smiled. "And I guess I ran away too. Don't have any siblings though." Cameron nodded in understanding, and just then, she heard his stomach, which had been whining since he began his search, growl. It was surprisingly loud, and Warren nearly turned red. Cameron glanced down at her half eaten bagel before offering it to him.

"You can have it. I'm full anyway." Warren didn't think that was really true, seeing how she had only had a few fries the last time he saw her, but accepted it anyway.

"Thanks," he mumbled, taking a small bite from the opposite end. Cameron waved her hand, as if it was no problem at all.

"Come on. You don't need to be here until later. Let's go visit my brother, huh?"

**:::**

**And here I thought I would be joining the movie again this chapter. Oh well, looks like it's going to take one more chapter. Review as always, thanks!**


	6. Dorian

**Sorry for the delay. Writer's block, procrastination, and school were all at fault lol. I do have a general idea of where I'm going with this. And I just noticed I never disclaimer'd. So. I don't own any of the X-Men movies? I said Cameron's brother was eleven last chapter but I decided to make him ten.  
**

**:::**

Dorian Fletcher was nearly the opposite of his sister, neat cropped black hair, and mocha colored eyes, all genuine smiles that always reached his eyes.

"Cameron!" The young boy latched onto his sister's waist in a hug and she eased into a kneel to hug him back. Uncomfortable, Warren stood a few feet away, letting his eyes wander all over the private school's large soccer field. Children all around Dorian's age were participating in the practice game, dressed like the ten year old himself in the standard jersey and shorts. Warren use to play a lot of sports himself, back before he stopped clipping his wings.

"What time is Lisa picking you up?" questioned Cameron, holding her brother by the shoulders, idly smoothing out the wrinkles of his jersey.

"Dad fired Lisa. Now it's _Melanie_." The young boy grinned up at his sister, cheeks turning red. Cameron returned the grin with a knowing look.

"Oh? Someone has a little crush on the new nanny? That's adorable." She ruffled Dorian's dark hair and stood, gesturing to Warren.

"This is Warren. You'll probably like him. He's a dork like you," introduced Cameron, sending Warren a sly smile. He pouted slightly but offered Dorian a small smile. The boy returned it with a grimace as he smoothed his hair out.

"Is he your new _boytoy_?" Warren's eyebrows shot up. Where had the kid learned _that?_ Cameron seemed to think the same thing, gaping and lightly slapping him on the shoulder.

"Who taught you that? One of the idiots at school?" she scolded, almost like a mother.

"That's what Mom calls the guys you hang around with," replied Dorian with a shrug, probably not even understanding the meaning of such a term. Cameron huffed and mumbled something under her breath.

"Warren is my _friend_. I talk so much about you so he wanted to meet you," flattered Cameron. Dutifully, the little boy held up his hand, which Warren hesitantly took to shake.

"Sorry I called you a boytoy. Nice to meet you Mr. Warren," recited the child, his voice bordering a monotone, his handshake firm. Warren furrowed his eyebrows, pulling his hand away.

"You can just call me Warren," he said, giving Dorian a reassuring smile. The boy didn't return it.

"Come on kiddo, I'm gunna take you out for icecream," chimed Cameron, holding her hand out for her brother. He shook his head sadly.

"I have to stay for practice. The last time I skipped Mom got really mad…" Cameron shook her head.

"I'll deal with Fran myself, don't worry," assured Cameron. Dorian didn't look convinced.

"Hey," started Cameron, once again moving to kneel in front of him, hands sitting atop his shoulder. "I always watch out for you, okay?" Dorian looked away.

"You're not always there," he mumbled. There seemed to be an intimate moment between the siblings and Warren was understandably uncomfortable, shoving his hands in his pockets and looking around the soccer field for a distraction.

"Don't worry. I'll talk to Fran about it when I drop you off, okay?" said Cameron quietly.

"What about Warren?" whispered Dorian but Warren could still hear him.

"Don't worry about it. Come on, let's go." With that, she stood up and held out her hand again which Dorian reluctantly accepted.

"What about the coach?" asked Warren, glancing across the field at the large man who was pointing his players in different directions. Cameron smirked.

"He won't even notice us leave."

"But-" Cameron didn't wait for him to finish—she grabbed Warren's wrist with her free hand and started running toward the parking lot, dragging her brother and Warren along.

**:::**

"Okay champ, how's school going? Impressing the ladies?" Cameron winked at her brother across the park table, licking at her strawberry icecream. She had opted to pay for everyone (surprisingly) but coerced Warren into getting a small vanilla cone and allowing Dorian to have his sundae. The ten year old blushed under his sister's words, shoving some icecream into his mouth instead of answering. Cameron huffed.

"You can tell me," she said, acting insulted. Dorian pursed his lips and avoided eye contact.

"A lot of kids in class make fun of me," the young boy admitted. Cameron snorted.

"Eh, screw 'em. Life gets better after fifth grade, right Warren?" Warren, who had been slumped over, grudgingly licking his icecream cone, immediately sat up.

"Of course," he offered, giving Dorian a smile. The boy just stared at him before going back to his sundae. Warren sighed, getting up to throw his napkin away, icecream cone nearly finished.

"Can I talk to you for a sec?" he whispered to Cameron as he stood up. She shrugged and glanced at Dorian.

"We'll be right back," she said, winking at her brother, a smile she seemed to have just for him.

"What's up?" she asked, meeting Warren by the trashcan a couple of meters from the table.

"Your brother doesn't seem to like me too much," admitted Warren, running a hand through his blond hair. Cameron just shook her head.

"Dorian can be like that. Fran's got him acting like a stiff," mumbled the girl, rolling her green eyes.

"Fran?"

"My stepmom. A serious type A, if you know what I mean," explained Cameron briefly, licking a bit more of her melting icecream. She paused, smirking a little.

"The only thing we could bond over was our mutual distaste of mutants," reminisced Cameron before her eyes widened. She gave Warren an apologetic shake of the head.

"Not that I feel like that anymore. I mean, well, you're an okay guy despite the mutant thing," Cameron tried to backpedal, icecream long forgotten. Warren wasn't sure how to react. He was insulted but was pretty much desensitized to all the discrimination.

"Don't worry about it," brushed off Warren. "I get what you mean." Cameron grinned.

"You're such a pushover, geez." With that, she quickly finished what was left of the waffle cone and tossed out her napkin, reaching over to grab Warren's sleeve to drag him back to the table, but he didn't move.

"Don't mind me for asking," he started, glancing at Dorian, "but your brother doesn't call your stepmom Fran. You two aren't related are you?" He didn't mean to sound so accusing, as if she had kept another secret from him. Cameron shrugged, letting go of his sleeves and crossing her arms over her chest.

"Half- siblings," she explained briefly. "Same dad, different mom." With that, she headed back to the table and Warren hesitantly followed after, blue eyes wavering between Cameron and Dorian.

"So, where do you want to head next?" asked Cameron as she sat down, one hand briefly running through her shoulder-length hair. Dorian was nearly done with his sundae, a mess of chocolate all over his face. He scrunched up his face in thought.

"Well, Mom and Dad always take me to stuffy places like museums." The ten year old paused to make the obligatory disgusted face. "Can we just do something fun?"

"Hmm," mumbled Cameron, hand on chin in contemplation. "Any ideas Warren?" The blond furrowed his eyebrows in thought—he wasn't too familiar with the borough. Before he had a chance to admit such a thing, Cameron snapped her fingers.

"I know the place. Let's go."

**:::**

"This…doesn't look like a fair." At least not any fair Warren has ever been to.

"It was the best place I could think of. Everything's super cheap and they just settled here last week," said Cameron, not at all suspicious by unstable looking rides and slightly tipsy adults, shambling around in broad daylight.

"Okay," started Cameron, pulling out her money from her shirt, sifting the bills through her fingers. "We have enough money fooooor... two rides!" Dorian pouted, pointing at the large amount of bills in her hand.

"You have way more than enough for two rides," he whined, and for once Warren got a glimpse of a true ten year old. Cameron huffed and shoved some of the money into her shirt again.

"The rest of it is to take Warren back home. He lives in Manhattan." Warren couldn't help but look surprised.

"Why? I can just-" he paused, as Cameron motioned with her head at Dorian, oblivious to the mutant thing. Warren shook his head.

"It's okay," prodded Dorian, "I can just ask Mom for more money when we get home. Then I'll give it to you for Warren. Or you two can just stay at home!" The child sounded ridiculously excited by that prospect. "Yeah! Dad really misses you, you know? And Warren doesn't look all icky like the other guys you hang around with so it's a win win situation! Then you can see my new room, and the new video games I got, and-"

"Okay, slow down!" interrupted Cameron, giggling slightly as she kneeled to get to her brother's level. "Dorian, that sounds great, but I have a lot of stuff to take care of okay?" Dorian didn't look convinced.

"You _always _say that." The boy huffed and crossed his arms before turning and stalking through the traveling fair. Cameron sighed, slowly standing up, eyes following Dorian as he stared up at the Zipper, listening to the screams with wonder.

"The mutant thing is at six, you know," put in Warren, glancing from Dorian to Cameron. She continued to stare at her brother.

"You don't understand." Warren tried not to roll his eyes.

"I have wings and daddy issues. I _think _it won't be too hard to understand," quipped Warren, completely honest with himself for once. Cameron let out a short laugh.

"Charming. You're charming." She looped one arm with Warren's and began to trail after her brother who was now examining every mechanical ride with a curious eye. It was slightly uncomfortable, being so close to her, but Warren forced himself to relax and prompt her.

"I won't judge you or anything," he added. _I've already done that enough. _Cameron shook her head, leaning into his arm, not once looking up at him.

"It's not that—my parents are just strangers sometimes. They've never been proud of anything I did." She scowled. "They weren't going to cosign for my college loans. Wanted me to take a year off to get 'rehab', as if I was an alcoholic or something. Sure, I drink and do drugs sometimes, but whatever." She waved her hand flippantly, falling into silence again. It was awkward, Warren trying to figure out how to respond as he watched Dorian haggling with the owner of a prize booth.

"They think I'm a bad person," mumbled Cameron, her voice lacking its usual bounce. Warren shrugged.

"No one's a good person, not really anyway," responded Warren.

"I don't know, Birdboy. Compared to me, you're an angel." Cameron laughed at her cheesy joke. Warren allowed himself to crack a smile.

"You should go. For Dorian," pressed Warren.

"No way. So I can get lectured some more? Not happening. And trust me, they'll rip on you too. Say you're a bum loaded with STDs who sniffs cleaning products in his free time," explained Cameron. Warren frowned.

"What, I'm not badass enough for real drugs?" Cameron started laughing, eyes scrunching up as she pressed her face to his arm. He made her laugh. Warren smiled, glancing down at her.

"I chose the rides I want." Dorian had ran back to them, but was obviously still peeved, focused more on Warren. "The only good ones are the Zipper and Scrambler." Warren winced, both particularly uncomfortable. Then again, having wings made most rides uncomfortable.

"I think I'll skip the Zipper," said Warren, giving the boy an apologetic smile.

"I'll go with you," piped up Cameron, unlatching her arm from Warren to reach for her brother's hand. He took a moment to give her the dirtiest look at ten year old could give. Cameron pouted.

"Aww Dorian, don't be sad. I'll go home with you, okay?" Dorian's dark eyes lit up.

"Really?"

"Really."

"Promise?"

"Promise," affirmed Cameron before grinning. "Now let's go on the Zipper." She moved to lift him up, to which the boy started to whine, laughing as his sister carried him to the ticket booth. Warren watched the two pay for the tickets, a small smile on his lips. He wasn't sure exactly what made Cameron change her mind but he was glad she did. Although he was a bit disinclined to meet Cameron's parents, he felt excited to finally get some insight on her personal life.

Shoving his hands into his coat pockets, the mutant looked around the carnival, none of the rides too tempting. Then again, this place was mostly for little kids and parents. He sighed, moving to sit on a nearby bench, waiting with his own thoughts for the return of Cameron and Dorian. They were back in a few minutes, both of their hair askew. Dorian was nearly jumping in his spot while Cameron looked horribly frightful, her backpack clutched to her chest.

"And we went upside down, and I felt like I was dying, and it was _awesome_!" exaggerated the child to Warren, throwing his hands up. Warren cracked a smile before glancing at Cameron.

"You okay?"

"No," peeped Cameron. "Now I know to avoid that ride." Dorian elbowed her lightly, grinning.

"Don't be such a wimp." He started to laugh to himself. "Scrambler next!" Cameron held up a free hand and shook her head.

"I feel nauseous, give me a sec," she groaned, making her way to sit next to Warren on the bench, her backpack slipping to the floor. Idly, she leaned into his shoulder, groaning.

"Why did it have to be the first ride," she asked rhetorically as Dorian jumped on the bench next to her, standing up to get a better view of the fair.

"You didn't really eat anything," said Warren. "At least you won't vomit." Cameron groaned louder, further burying her face in Warren's shoulder. Awkwardly, almost hesitantly, Warren placed an arm around her, patting her softly on the back.

"What's our new ride limit?" asked Dorian, glancing down at the couple.

"Zero," moaned out Cameron. Dorian reached out to shake her shoulder. "Okay, okay, four. But _I _get to choose the next ride. Any suggestions, Birdboy?" She moved away from his shoulder to look him in the eye. Dorian made a face, jumping off the bench."Birdboy?"

Warren immediately tensed, feeling his wings twitch, causing him to cough out awkwardly. Cameron sniffed and pulled away from Warren, getting up to stretch.

"I'm thinking House of Mirrors," mused Cameron.

"Why did you call him Birdboy?" asked Dorian, eyes narrowed quite suspiciously for a ten year old.

"You'll understand when you're older," brushed off Cameron, ruffling Dorian's dark hair as she walked by. Dorian furrowed his eyebrows, reaching to pat his hair down as he followed after his older sister. Warren sighed in relief before trailing after the Fletcher siblings.

**:::**

**Eh, not exactly what I wanted but here it is. How do you all feel about Dorian? I don't have any siblings that young so I hope the characterization is not too off. Moar of Cameron's family to come. Hope you all don't mind too much. Any fair ride suggestions?  
**

**Anyone see X-Men: First Class yet? Was it good? Me and some friends wanted to see it last night after prom but we were too tired.  
**


	7. Fletchers

**Sorry for the delay. I had finished this earlier but unfortunately lost the edited version sooo I was a bit slow in updating. Enjoy!  
**

**:::**

"Scrambler!" Warren furrowed his eyebrows as he watched Dorian run toward the last ride, waving his hands in the air. Must be the icecream giving him a sugar high. After Cameron's "House of Mirrors" (which turned out to just be a small maze with a bunch of little children running around inside), it was Warren's chance to pick something. He chose the ferris wheel.

The amount of whining Dorian did the entire ride was annoying, but Warren found it almost endearing.

"I only got two rides in the end!" Dorian had exclaimed in the booth, arms crossed, pouting in his spot. It was obvious the boy was not use to not getting what he wanted. Cameron had her arm around her brother, seemingly enjoying the ride, giving Warren eye rolls at some of the things Dorian said in all his ten year old ignorance.

"I know it's boring but that's fair, yeah?" comforted Cameron, glancing over the edge, slightly cringing at the height. Dorian huffed.

"Okay, yeah this sucks," broke Cameron, grinning.

"That's why I picked it," joked Warren, his lips pulling up into a small smile, as if sharing a secret.

"But it's better than everything else. Seriously, Dorian did you want to go on the merry-go-round?" she asked, giving her younger brother a pointed look.

He sniffed. "No."

"Then there you have it. I got a ride, Warren got a ride, and you got two rides. Wait, that sounds wrong." The phrasing went over Dorian's head and Warren tried his best not to facepalm or look disgusted.

"Anyway," continued Cameron, brushing off her unintentionally inappropriate phrasing, "If it makes you feel better, I'll use the extra cash to buy you cotton candy. Okay?" Dorian sniffed.

"I guess." Their booth fell into silence as the ride went for a second rotation.

"This is your kinda thing, huh?" Warren looked away from the people on the ground to Cameron, no longer holding on to Dorian who was cautiously peering over the edge. He, like Cameron, didn't seem to do well with heights.

"What, ferris wheels?" Cameron, sitting on the bench across from him, kicked him lightly in the shin.

"The sky. You know, on account of-" she gestured to her back with her thumbs. Warren blinked.

"I just like the ferris wheel." Cameron smiled then, a genuine quirk of the lip, not a smirk.

After more mindless chatter, they exited the ride and Dorian took off toward the Scrambler, nearly tripping on the way. Warren cringed as he and Cameron got in line next to the giddy child. He hated this type of ride.

"Larger person sits toward the middle," drawled the ride operator, a lanky young man dressed in the uniform required of all employees.

"You can sit this one out if you want," she said, glancing back at Warren as she handed the man the correct amount of tickets. "I'm not exactly light and Dorian can be a bit heavy." The blond shook his head.

"It's fine," he said, idly placing a hand on the small of her back to lead her to the green car Dorian had chose. The ten year old scrambled up into the seat and slid to the edge, allowing his sister and Warren to get in, pulling the bar down over them.

"You better hold on and try not to lean into me," Cameron warned her brother as the ride operator came by to check the bar, simply putting one hand on it before moving on without a care. Dorian nodded swinging his feet with excitement.

"I'll try not to crush you," comforted Cameron, giving Warren a grin. He grimaced.

"Thanks."

And well. She didn't. But the combined weight of a laughing Cameron and screaming Dorian was more than enough to make Warren extremely sore and uncomfortable as the ride twisted and turned.

"I can't," laughed out Cameron, hands clutching the bar. Every time she pulled herself off his side, a twist pushed her back into him. Dorian didn't even bother, throwing his hands up in air, his tiny body surprisingly quite heavy. Otherwise, their weight wasn't too much of a nuisance, and Warren realized how _much _he missed out as a kid. His dad never took him to things like this, not really anyway. Warren was too _different_.

**:::**

It was exactly 4:03 PM when Cameron stepped into the threshold of her former house after quietly slipping her extra key in the lock. Dorian, containing his joy that his sister accepted his invitation, followed after, easily gliding into the house and slipping off his soccer cleats. Warren came in after the half siblings, slowly shutting the door behind him just as Dorian opened his mouth to call for his parents.

"Shhh!" hissed Cameron, putting her pointer finger to her chapped lips. "We keep this on the down low. Show me your room and stupid video games, and we're out."

"Dorian?" A woman who looked to be in her mid thirties peeked out of one of the rooms at the side of the hall, her dark hair pulled into a messy bun yet the makeup on her face seemingly perfect. She let out a breath of relief, quickly moving over to set her hands on Dorian's small shoulders. Unlike Cameron, she didn't kneel to reach his level, towering over him in brown wedges, perhaps to keep her sky blue sundress wrinkle free.

"Are you okay? Why didn't you call?"asked the woman, looking genuinely concerned, strands of dark hair catching in her long, mascara-laden lashes. Dorian mumbled something under his breath that sounded like an apology. The woman let out another sigh and pulled Dorian into a loose hug.

"Sheesh Fran, just took him out. No need to get all weepy," remarked Cameron, leaning into the wall by the welcome mat, Warren standing awkwardly off to the side, trying to ignore an itch in his left wing. The woman, Fran, gave Cameron a stern look, thin pink lips pulled into a frown.

"Go change and come back down Dorian. Your father and I need to discuss this with you," ordered Fran, slightly pushing her son up the large staircase in the expansive house. The ten year old sent his sister a look of longing, grudgingly stalking up the stairs, his socks making soft padding noises on the mahogony wood.

"We talked about this Cameron," said Fran with obvious annoyance, shaking her head, one hand moving to pull the hair out of her lashes. "You can't just pick Dorian up from school. The nanny was worried sick. You never call or tell the school, just take him to go off in your shenanigans!" Cameron rolled her eyes, idly picking at her fingernails.

"Uh, duh. Because if I told you I was taking him out, you'd say no and send him to piano lessons or whatever bullshit you have planned these days," snorted Cameron. Fran placed her hands on her hips, now glaring at the 18 year old.

"You don't use that language in here."

"Buuuuullshit." Cameron smirked.

"Honey?" A tall, middle aged man with graying hair was standing at the top of the staircase. Noticing the trio, he quickly made his way down the steps, looking well kept in a polo and khakis despite his flustered demeanor.

"Thank God," he breathed. "Where's Dorian?"

"Upstairs," explained Fran. "We need to have a talk with him and Cameron about this…_cutting_." Cameron snorted.

"Uh, hello? School was over. It wasn't cutting," commented Cameron, rolling her eyes, making Warren feel more than awkward witnessing this family interaction.

"Cameron," warned the man, sighing. Both adults were doing a lot of that. "What is it this time?" He spared Warren a glance, the first sign of acknowledgement. "Money?"

"We just wanted to see Dorian's room," interrupted Warren, quite tired of standing in the shadows and uncomfortable with the mounting tension in the hall. The man raised an eyebrow, eyes slightly narrowed, as if _examining_. He almost reminded Warren of his own father.

"I'm Warren," greeted Warren after a moment of silence, offering his hand to the man. The older man glanced down at it before hesitantly accepting the handshake.

"Greg Fletcher," he replied. "My wife, Fran. You're a friend of Cameron's?" Warren gave Cameron a side glance, unsure of what the proper response would be, and she just rolled her eyes again.

"No _Dad_," drawled Cameron, "he's just some guy who got me knocked up and sells weed on the side. You know, _same old, same old_." Warren gaped at Cameron, looking between her and her parents, the tension returning.

"We're just friends," stuttered out Warren, feeling like he was in the unwanted spotlight. _Way to go, Cameron. _ Mr. Fletcher held up a hand.

"Please. We want the truth," he said quite calmly, as if the sort of stuff Cameron said was quite normal. Which to them, it probably was.

Before Warren got to explain, Cameron grabbed his wrist rather violently.

"We're going to see Dorian's room. Back off!" With that, she dragged the unwilling Warren up the extravagant staircase as he shot looks down at her parents, both looking decidedly _peeved_.

**:::**

"Why did you do that?" Surprisingly, Warren managed to keep his voice leveled as Cameron examined the posters in her brother's room, just as Dorian was fishing in his walk in closet for a t-shirt.

"Don't worry, it doesn't matter," waved off Cameron, tossing her backpack to the floor and moving to land on her brother's bed, nearly flopping like a fish. Warren glared at her, moving closer to the unnecessarily large bed so Dorian wouldn't hear them from the closet.

"They think I got you _pregnant_. Of course it matters," he said, his voice strained. Cameron looked up at him with one waxed eyebrow raised, moving to put her hands behind her head on the bed as a pillow.

"Look Birdboy, Dad and Fran would've thought that anyway. They think I'm having sex with any guy I bring home, because, ya know, that's the type of girl I am." At this, she rolled her eyes, letting out a breath of exasperation. Warren wasn't quite sure how to respond—he himself had thought she slept around for work and never really brought it up before. What would be the correct thing to say?

"You're not," he blurted out. She furrowed her eyebrows at him. "Right?" Wrong choice. Her stare turned into a glare and she sat up.

"Of course not!" she nearly yelled, moving to slap Warren in the abdomen, a warning. He cringed away, not in pain but surprise.

"Okay, okay," he defended, stepping back. Cameron huffed, bouncing off the bed, one hand flipping her hair over her shoulder.

"What are you guys talking about?" Dorian's head popped out from the large closet, half covered by the gray t-shirt that was not fully on.

"How much of a _dork _Warren is," said Cameron, crossing her arms, shooting Warren a glare. Dorian smiled, pulling the shirt over his head.

"I thought you liked him," said the ten year old, gently closing the closet, stepping out in khaki shorts and a t-shirt. Cameron winced at his outfit and the comment.

"Yuck." Dorian giggled at her response and Warren just frowned.

"You got a cool room kiddo," complimented Cameron, switching back into cheeky older sister mode. Dorian's smile grew, some teeth now showing. He really was just a kid, Warren thought.

"What do you think?" he pressed, directing this at Warren. Warren smiled politely.

"It's nice, yeah. Wish my room was as awesome as this," replied the 21 year old, perhaps laying on too much of the cliché phrasing near the end. Dorian giggled to himself.

"Dork." Warren held back a sigh. He just wasn't good with kids.

"Okay, let's see those games," said Cameron, glancing around the room. Dorian shook his head sadly.

"Mom wants to see me downstairs," he muttered, dejected. "They're going to lecture me again. I know it." Cameron moved closer and ruffled his dark hair.

"Don't worry about it. I'll be there with you." The boy brightened considerably and Warren's annoyance at Cameron almost softened. For all her faults, she really did care about her brother.

**:::**

"You don't have to be here Cameron." Fran was fake smiling over the tea she had just set on the coffee table. The living room was ridiculously clean, sofa pillows at the perfect angle, wood flooring spotless, drapes neatly hung. It was as if no one really lived there, despite the fact that a large television was set up in the room and currently on the news, quietly playing as Dorian snuck glances every now and then.

"This is really just between your father and I, and Dorian," continued Fran, taking a sip of the black tea. Cameron returned the fake smile.

"I don't mind." Fran looked like she was about to say something else, but Cameron's father set a hand on her knee, giving her a look. They seemed to share a silent conversation, none of which the polite Warren, eye rolling Cameron, or distracted Dorian could interpret.

"So," started Mr. Fletcher, leaning back in the couch. "What do you do for a living Warren?" The way he asked suggested he was humoring the blond. It was all for conversation's sake. Cameron snorted, something she seemed to have gained a penchant for, and leaned back in the couch across from her parents, glancing over at Warren who was sitting upright next to her, perfect posture.

"I'm a third year student at NYU," responded Warren, polite and tidy as always. Mr. Fletcher's eyebrows shot up.

"Right." He didn't sound convinced, but he then furrowed his eyebrows. "You look familiar. Have we met?"

"I don't think so, sir," Warren responded, truthfully never having seen Greg Fletcher in his life. The older man raised an eyebrow in the same manner as Cameron often did. Patronizing.

"Uhhuh."

"How did you and Cameron…meet?" asked Fran, glancing between the two, almost suspicious, her tea now sitting on a coaster on the coffee table. They were not the sort of people to put cups directly on the expensive furniture. Warren paused, unsure of exactly what to say. 'I was trying to steal her coat' sounded a bit _too _thug. Cameron let out a small chuckle.

"Yeah Warren, enlighten us," she goaded, enjoying his discomfort. The truth? Hell no. A lie? Possibly, if he could think of a good one on the spot. Which he was seriously doubting.

"Well, I was walking…"Mr. and Mrs. Fletcher looked on, Cameron silently giggled next to him, and Dorian still had his eyes glued to the television.

"And…Cameron was there. At McDonald's. Getting fries. And I left my wallet at home…so she gave me some fries." Cameron burst out laughing and Warren couldn't help but blush in embarrassment. Really, that was the best story he could come up with? Mr. Fletcher looked deathly serious and Fran gave an exasperated sigh.

"Okay, okay, let me tell you how it all went down. Dorian might need to cover his ears for this," laughed out Cameron, having a bit too much fun irritating her parents. Fran shot her what some would consider a death glare, and Dorian suddenly snapped to attention, looking at the adults for a moment before focusing back on the television.

"She doesn't mean that," interrupted Warren, causing Cameron to laugh harder. Warren slightly scrunched up his nose. Any harder and spit would probably come flying out of her mouth.

"Please, do tell, Cameron," said Mr. Fletcher in a calm voice, straight face. Cameron chuckled, raising her brows at her father.

"Oh, you're interested in my personal life?" She laughed again, patronizing, patronizing.

"See, I was casually doing recreational _medication _on the wrong side of Brooklyn when Zane, yeah Zane, last guy I brought home whose name might not have really been Zane,, drove by with Warren. And just like that," she snapped her fingers, "we clicked. After getting properly acquainted, in a manner I'm sure you both know of, we proceeded to do more recreational medication and enjoy a nice bottle of red wine." Warren couldn't take it. He facepalm'd. Dorian glanced over again, wrinkling his brows.

"What's recreational medication?" he asked, giving the adults in the room a once over, waiting for any of them to answer his question. Fran was giving Cameron the Double Death Glare of Death (as Warren could only describe it as this), and Mr. Fletcher snapped his shark eyes to Warren. Green. Like Cameron's.

"How long?" he asked, his voice holding an edge of _something_. Warren gave him a questioning look.

"How long have you two been having this _acquaintance?_" Cameron laughed, waving her hand casually in the air.

"I dunno, months. Or maybe weeks. I'm so forgetful, ya know?" She giggled and leaned over Warren, draping an arm over his shoulder to play up her bimbo act. He nearly jumped away from her, hands pressing into the sofa pillows behind him as he tried to scramble away on the too small couch. He settled for lightly pushing her away.

"That's not true," Warren managed to get out, giving the Fletchers a near pleading look. "We just met to-"

"Aww, we don't have to pretend, Warren," cooed Cameron, quickly grabbing his hand, forcing him to link fingers with her. "I know I can be so _ditzy _sometimes, but who cares!"

Warren attempted to wretch his hand from her's but she held tight.

"No, I-"

"Warren, you're on TV!" Dorian suddenly interrupted, nearly standing up on the loveseat he was perched upon. All attention snapped to the enormous HD television as Dorian quickly reached for the remote and turned up the volume.

_"It was confirmed just recently that the man jumping out of the main Worthington Labs clinic in Manhattan was indeed businessman Warren Worthington Jr's son," _spoke the newscaster, a photo of Warren and his father, named the same as himself, dressed in suits, posing for cameras at a charity event sponsored by his father's company on the screen. It was just earlier this year, Warren realized, staring at himself on the screen, his hair slightly shorter, more styled, one arm around his father, designer suit perfectly tailored, unsmiling at the camera.

_"For those of you just tuning in, you may have heard of the sudden man jumping from the Worthington owned clinic this morning, and flying with wings described to be those of an _angel's_, away from the scene. Here is some of the scene captured by cameraman Lewis Madison who was on the scene with our Leslie Frank." _The photo of the two Warrens switched to a clip of a woman talking into a microphone, a news anchor outside the clinic just this morning.

_"There have been mixed opinions everywhere but everyone in this line is determined-"_ The sound of glass breaking interrupted the news reporter, and the camera tilted up, catching a winged man falling from a recently shattered window. As the camera followed the man, zooming in as he soared by above the crowd on the ground, his face became clearer. More focused. It was Warren. The video stopped as Warren flew by, catching his figure blending into the glare from the sun, his shoes barely visible. At that moment, he really looked like an angel.

_"The man was identified to be Warren Worthington the third, son of Worthington Jr, the multibillionaire who funded the controversial mutant cure research. The elder Worthington has yet comment on this footage and his son cannot be reached. Moving to the latest mutant news, mutant terrorist Mystique-"_

Warren now knew what people meant when they said they wished the ground would open up and swallow them. The television went on, but all eyes were on him.

**:::**

**Cameron just loves trolling, ohohoho. Reviews are loved and motivate me to update :P (Also, saw First Class, loved it. I may decide to dabble in some Erik/Raven/Charles fic)**


	8. Feathers and Eyeliner

**Sorry for the long delay. I don't own the X-Men movie franchise. **

**:::**

Warren never really considered himself to be one of _those _people. The ones you see on television, dressed in ridiculously expensive designer outfits, haircuts worth over $400, all smiles and good manner for the various cameras focused on them. But, in hindsight, it was easy to see why people had a slight sense of reverence upon meeting him; or the opposite - they very much disliked him (as was the polite way of putting it). He was either a handsome entrepreneur (not that Warren actually did any business) or a spoiled brat who got what he wanted without even having to ask.

Even without his mutation known, he was always an outcast. No matter how often he shopped at department stores, how often he ate fast food, how often his smile fell short of the eligible bachelor ideal, people still saw him as his father's son. He was _that man_. Mr. Worthington's son. Sometimes you can't help what you're born into.

Friday nights for most young men his age include parties, girls, alcohol, all of that sort. For Warren, it is sitting in his room, reading about the latest mutant news, trying to pretend it was merely something to occupy himself with. He didn't have much friends, both because he wasn't quite sociable and that his father's status made him seem unapproachable. There was this one time, when his entire floor went to a party at a frat house and invited him - the first time anyone treated him just like another teenager. It was after a few drinks too many did Warren start accidentally crushing ping pong balls, unintentionally shoving people into walls, and just being a general mess of irritation and depression because goddamnit people kept bumping into his wings and goddamnit he had _wings. _

So, it was no surprise for Warren when people gave him a wide berth. Some talked with him, sure, those who came from equally wealthy families, or just those who didn't care much for status and enjoyed an intelligent conversation once and a while. Regardless, Warren was use to being fawned over or ignored with a hint of disdain. Even as a mutant, sheltered and hidden, he never faced the brunt of discrimination. His first brush with hostility and fear was at the Fletcher residence.

"You can fly?" Dorian asked, breaking the silence (minus the still talking television) of the Fletchers' tidy living room, wide-eyed, barely containing the excitement in his voice. Warren could only stare at him, mouth slightly agape, sitting stiffly on the sofa, stunned and speechless.

"Dorian!" Fran suddenly hissed, as if his question snapped her out of a stilled trance. Standing up, she reached her hand out for her son. "Get over here." She sounded…scared, calling her son to stand behind her, _protecting _him. Mr. Fletcher rose as well, slowly, eyes on Warren. He didn't seem quite as startled as Fran, but simply a bit more suspicious.

"You're Worthington's son…no wonder I recognized you." He stared for a moment as Fran forcefully grabbed Dorian when he wouldn't move and shoved him behind her, backing up toward the fireplace.

"Why are you with him?" accused Fran, giving Cameron a look of betrayal. Cameron stood to get at her parents level (though still shorter than both of them), glaring at her stepmother.

"He may be a freak but he treats me better than you two," the blond bit out. Warren knew that was anything but a compliment, yet still felt grateful. Regardless, Cameron was just acting out, doing and saying anything that would defy and anger her parents. He hardly thought her parents treated her with less concern than he himself often did.

"Cameron," warned Mr. Fletcher. "How long?" Warren wasn't quite sure what he meant, asking the same thing he had asked before he knew Warren was a mutant. How long Cameron had known him? Or maybe how long Cameron had been _with_ Warren? No. He needed to stop this.

"This morning," Warren suddenly stated, standing up, unconsciously wavering closer to Cameron. He felt her arm brush against his through the material of his coat.

"We met this morning. That's the truth Mr. Fletcher. I'm not sleeping with your daughter. I needed to hide my mutation, as you can imagine, and Cameron helped me. That's all." He felt relieved, an entire weight lifted off his already sinking shoulders. Mr. Fletcher didn't look quite as startled as Warren had expected him to be.

"Get out," Fran managed to say, her voice trembling, hands clutching at Dorian's shirt. "You're not welcome in my house."

"This isn't your house," snapped Cameron, stepping forward, knees hitting the coffee table, both hands clenched into fists. "It belongs to my dad." Fran matched her glare, and the two women looked to be in a silent battle via eye contact.

"We should leave," mumbled Warren, moving to rest his hand on Cameron's trembling wrist, careful not to actually grab her in any way she would deem abusive. He knew Cameron needed money but he could not deal with this now, not today. His own family issues were enough, and he hardly cared for, nor had the time for Cameron's.

Dorian made a move to step up, his mouth opening, but his mother pushed him back, eyes narrowed at Warren, judging him solely on his mutation, looking for a slip in his behavior, for some sort of action that would prove he was the monster she believed him to be. Cameron clenched her teeth but didn't move, forcing Warren to shuffle a bit closer, his hand now moving to her waist, an attempt to urge her to the doorway.

"It's alright," said Mr. Fletcher, reaching one hand out as if to placate the pair. It didn't make Warren feel any less anxious. "Please, stay for dinner." Warren's eyes immediately went to Cameron who similarly glanced over at him. Her eyes were narrowed, suspicious, and Fran was struggling to say something from behind her husband.

"Greg, really, this is completely unnecessary," she managed to get out, somehow still having the decency to be somewhat polite. "Cameron hasn't ever stayed here for dinner when we offered before. And I don't think her _guest _would like any either." The way she spat out the word guest made Warren nearly flinch.

"Actually," bit out Cameron, turning her anger back on her step-mother. "We would _love _to stay for dinner."

"No," Warren started, shaking his head. "No, we can't. We have to be at that church at 6, remember?" Fran let out a huff of contempt, muttering something inaudible under her breath. Cameron shook her head at him, one hand moving to settle on his upper arm.

"We can be a little late. I want to have a little meal with my _parents." _

"_We can't," _stressed Warren, slightly leaning over to reach her eye level.

"It's fine," interrupted Mr. Fletcher, already making his way to the den doorway. "Fran can cook something quick up right now. It's only 4:30, Warren, I'm sure you won't miss whatever Mass is being held." Warren could only look from Cameron's glare to Mr. Fletcher's seemingly welcoming smile.

"Greg-"'

"Fran." Mr. Fletcher didn't let his wife finish. He reached out one hand for her to take, presumably to the kitchen. Fran alternated between giving her husband warning looks and glaring at Cameron for a moment before finally taking Mr. Fletcher's hand, other hand gripping Dorian's wrist.

"Make yourself at home, Warren," said Mr. Fletcher, leaving the room with his wife and son in tow.

**:::**

"Eugh, most of my old makeup is gone," grumbled Cameron, stomping back into her old room, clutching a small clear purse with cosmetics and nail polish in it. She almost tripped over her own feet, being met with a shirtless Warren upon entering the room, wings flexing given the large space in the bedroom.

"Nice," she mumbled, getting over the surprise and dropping all the makeup out onto her bed before jumping on herself, the bed slightly creaking.

"Why do you think your dad asked us to stay?" asked Warren after a few moments of silence, the only noise Cameron as she rolled over to lie on her stomach after yanking her boots off. She shrugged, sifting through her meager supplies for eyeliner.

"Who knows. Probably wants your money." She started laughing to herself but Warren couldn't join in, eyebrows furrowed. He sighed, wings twitching unconsciously as he wrung his hands, pacing around Cameron's spacious bedroom. He didn't quite trust Mr. Fletcher, and wasn't too sure he wanted to stay any longer, but Cameron had somehow bullied him into it. He had decided to take it upon himself to relax, the hunger burning in his stomach as Cameron told him to "_chill_" when she went to the bathroom. Of course, that included letting his wings out to breathe for a moment, and that meant standing shirtless in her room, feeling slightly awkward and vulnerable as he approached her standing mirror. He looked the same as this morning, hair only a bit messier, but otherwise, it was as if nothing changed.

"Checking for _pimples?_" Cameron sauntered up behind him, squeezing herself closer so they were both visible in the mirror. She frowned, patting down her hair, black eyeliner between her fingers. Without her boots, Warren realized the top of her head barely reached his shoulder. She almost reminded him of a kid. Almost.

Seemingly satisfied with her hair, the blonde set out to apply the eyeliner with practiced ease, sidling closer to the mirror. Warren watched for a moment, feeling a strange sense of normalcy. In that moment, in front of that mirror, it didn't matter that he had wings. For just a few seconds, as Cameron put on her eyeliner, the side of her hip brushing against his own, he felt...human.

"Come here and help me pick out a color," Cameron interrupted his thoughts, capping her eyeliner and reaching out to grab his hand, pulling him toward her bed. Warren followed reluctantly, sitting crosslegged on the mattress while Cameron got comfortable on her stomach and held up a bottle of neon pink nail polish.

"I don't think that's my thing," Warren said, his wings hanging off the edge of the bed, once again flapping idly.

"Maybe I should try green, right? To match my eyes." With that, she glanced up at him, bringing up an army green colored bottle to hold by her eyes. "What do you think?" Truthfully, Warren didn't really see the point; who cared what color your nails are? Nonetheless he nodded.

"It looks nice." Cameron smiled lightly at his comment and uncapped the bottle to begin painting her nails.

"Cameron!" Dorian ducked into the room, immediately shutting the door behind him, letting out a breath of relief.

"Hey kiddo," greeted Cameron offhand, focused on her nails. "Fran got her talons out of you?" Dorian snorted, crawling up on the bed near the foot, careful not to spill his sister's nail polish.

"Why didn't you tell me you could fly?" asked Dorian, fixing Warren with a serious stare of betrayal.

"I knew you'd ask for me to fly you around," joked Warren, giving the boy a small smile. Dorian returned it, the first genuine one that was actually directed at Warren since they met.

"Can you do that?"

"I thought you didn't like heights," remarked Cameron.

"Well, that was just on rollercoasters and stuff," defended Dorian, causing Cameron to let out a small laugh.

"Maybe another time," placated Warren. There was no way he was going to rile up Mrs. Fletcher if he could help it. Dorian pouted.

"Can I at least touch them?" he pleaded, already making his way to Warren's side on the bed, earning him a slight huff from Cameron who tried to keep her polish bottle from spilling.

"Er…sure," mumbled Warren. No one had ever wanted to really touch his wings. Not even his father. The wings settled closer to his back, no longer idly flexing, and Dorian reached out in amazement, slowly brushing his hands along the edge of his left wing, along the bone.

"They're like…real bird feathers!" yelled out Dorian, suddenly gripping one of the white feathers and yanking rather violently. It stung, causing Warren to call out in surprise, falling backward off the bed, his right wing catching a lamp on the nightstand and sending it into the ground.

"Dorian!" Cameron nearly cried, holding onto the bottle and tightening the cap, sending her brother a dark look. He turned red, one hand helping him balance on the bed, the other holding a perfectly shaped snow white feather.

"Are you okay?" asked Cameron, crawling across the bed to stare at Warren on the floor, one hand rubbing the back of his head.

"I think. Sorry about your lamp." Cameron gave Dorian another glare, snatching the feather out of his hand.

"Smooth move," she deadpanned, getting off the bed to sit at Warren's side on the carpet.

"You want your, uh, feather, back?" she offered, holding it out to him, legs tucked under her as she watched him sit up, wings flapping in agitation.

"Why did you pull it out?" he asked, his annoyance barely clouded as he looked up at Dorian on the bed. The ten year old blushed.

"I wanted to know if it was real." Cameron rolled her eyes, pointing to Warren's twitching wings.

"You're seriously doubting these things?"

"Are you two okay?" Mr. Fletcher peeked in, spotting Dorian sitting guilty on the bed and Cameron and Warren's heads popping up from the other side of the bed.

"Y-yeah," stuttered out Warren, quickly standing up, trying not to trip over himself, wings settling again his back to make them seem less noticeable. Mr. Fletcher nodded, face unreadable.

"Dorian, shouldn't you be downstairs with your mother?" The child didn't respond, but took the chance to escape Warren's anger (not that Warren was spiteful enough to get revenge) and hurried out the room. Mr. Fletcher smiled after him before returning his attention back to Warren and his daughter, both now standing.

"It's good to know Cameron's actually doing something with her time," commented Mr. Fletcher, casually sliding his hands into his khaki pockets. Warren wasn't quite sure if Mr. Fletcher was being sarcastic or not so just pressed his lips and nodded, avoiding eye contact. It wasn't _his _dad. Cameron could deal with her personal matters. He was, after all, just a guest.

"Yeah, Warren's real nice. He said he's going to take me to meet his dad," said Cameron, all smiles and fake naivety, which neither her father nor Warren failed to notice. Mr. Fletcher turned his attention to Warren, calmly sauntering into the room, closer to the bed so he was standing across from the young man.

"I appreciate you spending time with Cameron. She gets a little bored now and then, as you can imagine. It's good to know someone's watching out for her," said Mr. Fletcher, giving Warren a smile that didn't really seem all there.

"It's not like I had much of a choice," mumbled Warren, not meeting Mr. Fletcher's eyes because _hell_, the man made him nervous and shifty, and Warren didn't have to be polite all the time. Cameron's father laughed lightly, as if Warren was joking.

"Of course. Really though, thank you." With that, Mr. Fletcher turned to leave and Warren nearly let out a sigh of relief as Cameron rolled her eyes. Just as he reached the door, the Cameron's father paused and turned around.

"Just one thing, Warren. Your father, when he funded the cure for mutants, was it for you? I don't mean to pry, it's just very...peculiar. I take it he's not a fan?" And there it was, his father. You can't talk to Warren Worthington without mentioning his wealthy and influential father.

"My father is a peculiar man, Mr. Fletcher," responded Warren finally looking the older man in the eyes. "I don't really know how he works, just as I'm sure Cameron doesn't know much about why you do the things you do." For a moment, the two just stared at one another before Mr. Fletcher broke out into a smile.

"Right. Dinner will be ready in fifteen minutes." The door clicked close as Mr. Fletcher exited the room, leaving his daughter and her guest to their own devices.

"Bazing!" snapped Cameron, grinning ear to ear. "My dad is probably shitting himself trying to figure out the right thing to say to you. And you were just like 'back off old man'!" Cameron started laughing and Warren found himself grinning.

"He's not that bad of a guy," defended Warren, joining in the laughter. "Just...a dad." Cameron snorted, her laughter dying down as she gathered her makeup back in the plastic case, smearing the coat she had applied to her nails. She didn't seem to mind, going over to her closet. Warren didn't follow, but glanced down at the feather Cameron had left on the floor. He reached down to pick it up, turning it over in his hands. It was strange to really consider that it was once part of him. Like hair? Or nails?

"Hey, do you think I should wear this?" Cameron twirled out of her closet like she was some sort of model, wearing the shortest, shiniest black dress Warren had ever seen. And revealing what Warren had come to consider as an indecent amount of skin that wasn't proper in polite company.

"It's just dinner. With _your _parents. Shouldn't I be the one worried?" mumbled Warren, looking away as Cameron pouted.

"You're no fun. Come on, help me pick something out so I can look pretty at your mutant pizza party shindig," whined the blond, moving closer, one hand reaching up to pinch at his sleeve, as if she was about to start dragging him to the closet and throwing clothes at him. Warren stared down at the feather in his hand.

"You were pretty enough in what you were wearing before." He hadn't really thought that what he said had any meaning, but Cameron seemed to think otherwise, her hand dropping from his sleeve, her lips parting, staring at him with an expression he couldn't place.

"That's...that's the nicest thing you've ever said you me." She broke out into a smile. "You won't get all broody and stoic if I hug you, right?"

"No, but-" Cameron didn't let him finish, latching on around his waist, arms moving under his wings. Warren, not at all use to hugs or any physical contact stood stiff, hands in the air, unsure of where they were suppose to be. Cameron's eyes were closed, her head pressed up against his chest, perhaps "enjoying the moment".

"You can make this less awkward by at least trying to hug me back."

**:::**

**Finally managed to get something out. Sorry for the long wait. **


	9. Magnets

**Finally! It's summer so I had some time to write the next chapter. Sadly though, I have a summer program coming up so don't expect another chapter for a while. Regardless, I hope you enjoy this one. Sorry for the wait!**

**:::**

"He's going to expect you to call him, you know."

Warren stared at the small white card in his hand.

_Greg Fletcher_

_Trade Associate_

"I swear, he hands those out to everyone he meets," commented Cameron, pressing her cheek to Warren's shoulder as they walked through the quiet Williamsburg streets, her arm linked with his. "He thinks he's some sort of _businessman_."

"Is he?" Warren glanced over at the blonde, tucking the card into his dark trench-coat pocket. Cameron shrugged.

"Works for Stark Industries. Not that high up though, you know? I think that's why he keeps groveling at every opportunity he sees."

"I guess I'll mention him to my dad. If only because he made dinner bearable with his small talk," remarked Warren, glancing at a car that had just passed by, on alert even though it was a quiet night. Cameron gave a short laugh.

"No wonder you kept responding to his stupid questions. You're one of those people who enjoys fake conversations, hm," mused Cameron, slowly pulling away to readjust the straps on her backpack. She had changed into a loose flower printed dress that ended mid-thigh, white with pink and red roses. A classic blue jean jacket covered her arms, snug against her form. She stuck to her boots, dark brown, still dirty, and still adding to the appeal of her long legs. Not that Warren noticed, to her disappointment. She was still waiting for him to comment on her dress, one she had never worn, $34 tag still clipped on when she found it in the back of her closet.

"It was better than enduring your stepmother's _look_. Or Dorian's painful questions about how many people I've killed with my wings," defended Warren, for a moment missing the heat against his side.

"You could've just talked with _me_."

"Making _eyes _and brushing hands doesn't count as talking."

"You noticed! And here I thought you were a total virgin. You should've played along," pouted Cameron, crossing her arms. Warren nodded falsely.

"Of course, of course," he sighed, allowing her to bask in what she believed was his submission. No need for him to start an argument, one, that given her previous words, could very well prove her virgin theory correct. And that was not a topic of discussion Warren wanted to have with Cameron, of all people.

"There it is!" Nearly skipping, Cameron made her way to the church, ignoring the man smoking on the stoop. Warren trailed after, meeting the man's stare. Neither looked away for a moment, one letting a cigarette dangle from his fingers, the other following a blonde up the stairs to the church. The stoopsitter broke eye contact first, and Warren tried not to seem relieved. Now was not the time to be meek. Nor lost or afraid. Not now.

:::

"- no mistake my brothers, they will draw first blood."

Warren slid in after Cameron, only pushing the church doors open enough to squeeze through. It was dark, dimly lit with weak lamps hanging from the ceiling and along the walls. There was scattered paper and trash, as if there had been squatters not too long ago. Not surprising, given the abandoned state of the church's interior.

"They will force their cure upon us."

Warren snapped his attention to the voice that was speaking, as did Cameron, who now only stood a few inches away. It belonged to an elderly white-haired man, wearing, if Warren was correct, a _cape_. Nonetheless, the man seemed to stand a head taller than everyone else in the room, and not just because of his position at the altar. He stood as a minister would, preaching to his fellow worshipers.

No. A god. He stood as a god.

"The only question is…will you join my brotherhood and fight? Or wait for the inevitable genocide? Who will you stand with, the humans? Or us?"

With that ultimatum, the man stepped down and off to the side, a young blond man following after, as if an attentive guarddog would.

"Magnets!"

Warren had almost forgotten Cameron was there, but she was up against his side again, stage-whispering into his ear.

"That's totally Magnets."

"Magneto," mumbled Warren, following the mutant with his eyes. She was right. Without the helmet, Warren hadn't recognized him, but upon further inspection, it was indeed _Magnets_.

Magnets, who was now talking to a trio Warren recognized from earlier in the day. The one that had confronted him on the streets, so able to tell he was a mutant. His eyes widened, watching the Hispanic woman move from three meters away and back, in less than half a second. He blinked. Enhanced speed. _Very _enhanced speed.

"You should talk to him." It was Cameron again, reminding him of her presence. Warren quickly looked over to her, quirking an eyebrow.

"Why would I do that?" No way. _No way_. Magneto didn't seem like the man on the stoop. No. He was definitely not someone Warren wanted to meet face to face.

"But he thinks your da-"

Warren slapped his hand over Cameron's mouth, making a shushing noise. Cameron stared wide-eyed, then snatch his hand away, taking a good step back.

"Look who we're surrounded by," Warren whispered, attempting to close the space between them, even as Cameron leaned away, avoiding him in case he felt grabby again.

"What?"

"My _family _is probably not the best thing to bring up." And realization seemed to dawn on her, and the blonde nodded in understanding.

"Right. Well, someone's gotta tell Magnets he_ might _be wrong about this weaponized cure thing," Cameron pointed out. And Warren knew, even if he could gather the courage necessary to talk to a man whose eyes seemed to read every inadequacy you tried to hide, he would not be able to tell him that a weaponized cure was not on the table. Because, Warren was being honest with himself, honest about his mutation, about everything his father made him lie about, and that meant being honest about his father. Worthington Labs wouldn't be averse to making a weaponized cure. No. Not at all.

"I don't think that's going to work. We should-" Cameron was gone. No longer standing next to him, leaning away, yet close enough to put an arm around. He scanned the crowd, eyes searching for a dash of blonde, of a bounce in a step, of long tanned legs wearing boots.

And there she was. Right next to Magneto.

:::

"She's not one of us," Callisto put in, lipstick lips smirking at Cameron. The blond sent her a snort, trying to hold her posture in spite of the danger surrounding her. Magneto's lips quirked up, a smile of sorts, and he leaned closer to her, but his eyes wandered the room.

"Who are you here with?" He was so sure of himself. Cameron made it her job to prove others wrong, and so, with conviction:

"I'm alone. Wanted to see what this mutant huppla was about." Magneto raised an eyebrow in amusement. He glanced at Pyro who didn't hesitate in lighting up his hand, the flames dancing the air, illuminating his smirk.

"She's with me." Cameron inwardly sighed in relief at Warren's appearance. Half because she intended to get the blond over to Magneto, and half because, _hell_, the old guy scared the shit out of her. Warren placed his arm over her shoulder, and out of habit, she stiffened, just for a second. But it was Warren, just Warren, wispy blond hair, angel wings, couldn't return a hug if his life depended on it, Warren. He attempted to turn her, to steer them away from the trio and Magneto and his henchdog. But Cameron stood firm, elbow digging into his side, prompting him. This didn't go unnoticed.

"A woman isn't a very good reason for siding against your own kind," said the elderly mutant, smiling at Warren, a soft smile that betrayed every threat underlying those words. Warren's arm tightened around Cameron.

"I wasn't aware I had to pick a side." Warren wondered if he would make it out of this church alive.

Erik Lehnsherr's smile grew.

"Eventually, you will." And that was all he said. His eyes and attention were now only on Callisto, who returned his smile and turned, leading him out of the church, along with her two cohorts trailing. The henchdog, Pyro, followed last, but not before sending Cameron a wink with a flash of fire flaring up in front of her face, so close it nearly burned her skin.

:::

**I decided to skip the dinner because it didn't seem like it would be something interesting. Maybe one day I'll add a short chapter about what happened, but for now, I wanted to move forward. This chapter is really gearing toward the middle/endish of the story since I plan to follow Warren up until the end of X3. So there's still a bit to do regarding his movie moments, and I want to wrap up his relationship with Cameron too. **


	10. Spandex Shorts

**Happy July 4th to all my American readers! **

**:::**

The night was quiet as Warren and Cameron crossed the near-empty street into Sternberg Park. The basketball court and soccer field were empty, and no one milled under the tall lamps around the park. Warren wasn't sure if it was always like this or due to the current mutant news, which often made people paranoid enough not to stay out late.

Cameron clutched his arm tight, her head pressed against his shoulder as they made their way to one of the wooden benches set up between the gated field and court. She finally loosened her hold then, allowing him to be comfortable.

Neither said anything for a while, hadn't said anything even after Magneto had left. One of the mutants at the meeting took hold at the altar, but it was obvious that his pleads for organized protests were unwelcome, as most of the church occupants start to leave or hackle him. Warren had let go of his arm around her then, mindful of her personal space, but to his surprise, Cameron had latched on to his arm, holding him close. She didn't say a thing, completely unlike earlier, and her lips were pressed into a firm line, eyebrows furrowed.

And here they were, sitting on this bench in the cool night, both in their own thoughts.

"I should get going," mumbled Warren, glancing over at Cameron who had now completely retreated to her side of the bench. She had wrapped her jean jacket even tighter around herself, and had her hands tucked into the pockets as she watched the empty soccer field. Warren slowly stood up, one hand moving to undo the buttons of his coat. It was a cool night, but he wanted to fly back, his wings stiff against the makeshift belt harnesses.

"You still owe me for the jacket." Cameron turned to look up at him, her lips pulled up in a small smile. Warren grinned.

"Right. That seemed so long ago," he mused, thinking back to their first meeting. "How much did I say I would pay you?"

Cameron shook her head, slowly standing up, hands still in her coat pockets.

"I don't remember. It doesn't really matter anyway," she said, giving him that same small smile, the lamp to his side lighting up her face in the dark. Warren realized in that moment that Cameron was beautiful. Not in a conventional way, no, not with the scar from a broken nose, or the blemishes that she hadn't covered up and her almost too square jaw, with her dishwater blonde split ends and chapped lips. But she was beautiful.

"Come with me."

Cameron's smile slowly vanished and she raised an eyebrow, an expression she often did.

"What?"

Warren finished up the buttons of his coat, and shrugged off the long garment, placing it on the bench.

"Where else do you plan on going tonight? Not home, I assume," he commented, hands fiddling with the belt harnesses. Cameron grinned, looking away.

"You know me well. You gonna carry me to your place?" she asked, slowly removing her hands from her pockets to readjust her backpack straps. Warren nodded, finally letting his wings free, and they spread out behind him, stretching in anticipation.

"It's a nice night. And I owe you," he said casually, folding the belts into the coat, now a neat pile easily carried. He didn't know why, as he tucked the the clothing under his arm, but his heart was hammering in his chest. Old Warren never asked girls over, never could, not with his mutation. But this wasn't just a girl from class or one of his father's parties, this was Cameron. Whether or not she said yes, he realized, would make or break his night. Because, as he could now freely admit, he _liked _her. She had become his friend, maybe one of the closest he's ever had, and he couldn't imagine leaving her, not like this. Not in the middle of a park at night, allowing her to return to whatever she had been doing before he found her that morning in the alley. He didn't even know much about her, her favorite foods or shows, or her biggest pet peeves, how her childhood was, what she wanted to do with her life, but he felt connected now, connected to the brash young woman who he had once only seen as a means to an end.

Cameron shook her head. "No you don't, Birdboy. I was an ass to you this entire day, and you still put up with me. I should be the one that owes you. I," she paused looking away, down at her boots. "I don't have much friends, you know? Real ones." Warren slowly reached over, his free hand settling on her shoulder. The woman looked up, catching his eyes.

"Me neither. Now, put this in your bag." He handed her the coat and belts that were tucked under his arm, sharing a smile with her.

"I have to warn you, I'm not a big fan of heights," she said nervously, taking the neatly folded clothing and securing it within her backpack. Warren nodded in understanding.

"I'll try to fly a bit lower than usual. It's going to be a bit cold, though." With that, he placed one hand around her back, her backpack held to her chest instead, and the other to the back of her bare knees, before lifting. She was lighter than he expected, and he easily shifted her in his arms, earning a yelp, as Cameron pressed her palms to her backpack resting on her chest.

"I'm glad I wore shorts under this," she tried to joke, but the worry was evident in her voice. Warren just smiled.

"You'll be fine, just put your arms around my neck." Hesitantly, the blonde raised her arms from her bag and held tightly to his neck. Ready, Warren spread his feet a bit, crouching, and-

"You better not drop me-eeeeeeeee!" Warren launched into the sky, wings flapping with vigor after hours of being bounded.

**:::**

By the time Warren had reached his father's estate is Harrison, he was exhausted. In hindsight, taking the train might have saved him a lot of effort, but at the moment, he was glad to arrive at the secluded mansion in upstate New York. Cameron's hold had slackened quite a bit since they had taken off, and now she seemed to be coming in and out of sleep, mumbling about the chill in the air and how he should be wearing a shirt.

The balcony of his room was a more than welcome sight, barely noticeable in the moonlight. He couldn't help but notice the entire home was dark, and his father's favorite car was missing from the driveway. He guessed it was too late for much of his father's staff to still be housekeeping, and Warren Worthington II no longer kept staff overnight, not since his son's wings started to grow out completely.

Catching sight of where to land, Warren braced himself before feeling the solid ground below his feet. He let out a sigh of relief, easing Cameron down as he relished in the quiet of the trees around him, the muted sound of cicadas in the night. Cameron wobbled a bit on her feet, letting out a breathy "finally", and allowed Warren to keep a hand around her waist to steady her.

"Almost there," he assured, feeling about ready to collapse himself, barely able to grope for this keys in his pocket. In a minute, the balcony door was unlocked, and Warren pushed the curtain aside to allow Cameron to walk in, now steady after brushing off her earlier lethargy.

"Where's the light?" Cameron mumbled quietly in the dark room, standing still, lest she bump into something.

"I got it," Warren said, closing the balcony door but leaving the curtain open to let in the moonlight. With a click, the room was bathed in light, and Cameron squinted as her eyes adjusted. Warren's room was large, yet minimalist, a king sized bed in the middle, the headboard against the wall, and two nightstands on either side, one with an alarm clock reading 9:32 PM, the other with a framed photo of his father, himself, and his late mother. Next to one nightstand, farthest from the balcony was a door slightly ajar, leading to a walk in closet. An expansive desk was opposite the bed, a swivel chair neatly tucked in. Only a few items occupied the desk, including a sleek desktop computer and lamp amongst a day calendar and miscellaneous office supplies. Next to the balcony door was a plush loveseat and tall bookcase, nearly completely filled with not just books but few trinkets, particularly neatly polished snow globes, and one model airplane, crude looking and obviously made by a child at the top of the shelf. The walls held the most character, lined with movie posters, things that Cameron had not expected a man such as Warren to like, though the colors and designs were simple. There was one painting too, above the bed, a mix of blues and greens, white splashed across, like seafoam.

As Cameron took her time to examine the room, Warren let out a sigh and pulled his chair out from the desk, taking a seat, wings settling against his back. He had not been home in months, busy with school, but everything looked just as he had left it. He heard Cameron open the door to the hall, peeking out into the dark and silent house.

"I can stay here?" she asked, almost in disbelief, before glancing back at the shirtless man. Warren nodded.

"Of course. Make yourself at home," he offered, making his way to the closet to search for his towel. He was in desperate need of a shower. He heard Cameron giggling, and stepped out, towel in one hand, to see her jumping up and down his bed, her boots kicked off into the corner. The dress went up with each jump, revealing more of her long legs and the tight spandex shorts underneath, causing Warren to avert his eyes.

"I feel like a princess," she grinned, and Warren returned it, keeping his eyes on her face. "Come up here!" Warren shook his head, holding up his towel.

"Shower first. You wanna join me?" Warren realized how wrong that sounded as soon as the words left his mouth, and blushed, though he noticed Cameron's grin grow.

"Er. I mean do you want to shower too? We have three bathrooms." He gestured to the door to the hall, looking over his shoulder. If he had been paying attention, he would have noticed Cameron's grin slightly falter as she stopped jumping on the bed.

"Yep," she responded, voice still bouncy nonetheless, and stepped down from the bed. "Can I have clothes too?" Warren gave a quick "yeah", his heart starting to beat quickly again just as when he was in the park. He quickly went to search his closet for anything that would fit her, trying to ignore the feeling. Cameron was his friend, he placated. There was no need to feel anxious or embarrassed, he assured himself, picking out a t-shirt and a pair of clean shorts that he hoped would fit her.

"Come on," he said hurriedly, flicking off the closet light, passing Cameron the clothing. "There're towels in the bathroom." With that, he led the young woman out into the hall, trying not to catch the smiles she sent him, his stomach twisting into knots.

**:::**

**This story is starting to wind down, so enjoy it while it lasts! :)**


	11. Pantsless Lady Friend

**Hey ya'll! Sorry for the long wait. This story is starting to wind down so I hope you enjoy the last couple of chapters! **

**:::**

_Xavier's School for Gifted Youngsters. _

Warren's full attention was on his desktop as he scrolled through the webpage he was on. In his search for the school Cameron had mentioned earlier that day, he came across Xavier's. He has heard about it before, in passing, but never realized "gifted" was the politically correct term being coined for mutant. Perhaps, it wasn't – maybe this was how that institution really saw its students. Regardless, Charles Xavier's school looked entirely too good to be true. Of course, thought Warren, looking through the offered programs, it was meant for students who hadn't finished high school yet. A boarding school, not a college, not for someone as old as him.

Still, wondered the blond, clicking to the staff page. He was met with the photo of Xavier himself, an amicable looking man with several awards from Oxford University for research he conducted there. Although it mentioned Xavier was a mutant himself, there was no description of his abilities, but rather how he connected with his students through his own experience growing up in England. Warren continued down the page, past the teachers listed, some catching his eyes. One, including a very blue, very furry man with glasses and a tie. Dr. Hank McCoy. Warren blinked, finding himself not as perturbed as he supposed he should have been and continued to the end of the page.

_If you're interested in assisting with our programs, please contact us through email or phone. We also accept short drop-ins at the times listed below._

Warren grinned, matching on of the times for tomorrow in the afternoon.

"What are you so smiley about?" Warren whipped his head around to see Cameron standing at his room's open door, dishwater blond hair damp and wearing his t-shirt. One arm was wrapped around a bundle of clothing, and her other hand held one of the sandwiches he left in the kitchen for her.

"Er," started Warren, bringing his eyes back to the screen and exiting the browser. "Nothing too important. I see you found the kitchen alright?"

Cameron nodded, tossing the bundle of clothing at her backpack in the corner of the room and bouncing onto Warren's bed.

"Yup. Thanks for making me this. And for giving me your shirt." She looked away from him to stare down at her bare thighs. "You're a really nice guy, Warren."

Warren shook his head, getting up from his desk seat as he switched off his monitor.

"You're a guest. I'm sure you would've done the same for me if I were at your house," he said modestly, making his way to sit on his bed, kicking off his shoes and sighing as he laid his head into his pillow. It felt relieving to be home, his wings now free from any restraint, bare against the blanket on his mattress. Cameron turned to look at him over her shoulder, giving him a look. He couldn't help but break into laughter, and she joined him, bringing her legs up and laying down next to him, sandwich nearly finished in her hand.

"Yup, right after I dragged you through hell with my parents. Wanna bite?" she offered him the rest of her sandwich but he shook his head.

"I had three already," he said, red tinting his face as he looked away. He had forgotten how hungry he was with all the craziness that happened today, and nearly devoured everything in his fridge. Cameron laughed before popping the rest of the turkey sandwich into her mouth, and moving closer to him. They laid in silence, and Warren felt like he did back when they were at her house, in front of the mirror. Like everything was normal, everything was going to be okay. He felt Cameron's arm brush against his wing, and realized it didn't make the moment any less normal.

"Hey," started Warren, turning his head to look at her. She was closer than he remembered, now pressing her shoulder to his, eyes boring into his own. Idly, he realized that she was no longer wearing makeup, and the scar from her broken nose was dark against her fair skin.

"Uh, thanks for today. For helping me out," Warren fumbled out, starting to feel his heart race. It was the first time he had a girl in his room, let alone his bed, and he was as experienced with such things as much as a middle schooler. He blinked. Perhaps even less than a middle schooler.

"No problem. Saw a cute shirtless guy, had to jump on that," Cameron admitted, biting her lip to hold back a smile. Warren's head snapped back to her, eyes wide.

"What?" Cameron started to laugh, bumping his shoulder lightly.

"Why do you look like you're about to shit yourself?" she asked between giggles, sitting up so she could look down at him.

"I, uh, erm…"

"You're a cute guy. Handsome. Got real nice hair," she continued, smiling as she ruffled his near-dry flaxen hair into a mess. Warren swatted her hands away.

"Yeah, yeah, thanks, I really appreciate it," he mumbled back, about to turn away from her when he caught sight of her shirt riding up. He blinked.

"Are you wearing the shorts I gave you?"

"What? No." Warren made a choking sound and started to scramble away from her on the bed.

"Why not?" he sputtered out, feeling like he was in some sort of teenage movie and _eugh_.

"Because they don't fit," Cameron pointed out, crossing her arms across her chest.

"Well…"

"_Well_…" goaded Cameron. "Are you really getting all weird because I'm pantless. It's not that big of a deal. You act like you've never-"

The blond stopped, blinked, and suddenly smiled too wide.

"You're a virgin!" she accused, pointing at Warren's reddening face.

"No! I mean, technically, yes, but, my wings, and uh…" Warren decided he wasn't going to explain or defend himself as Cameron grinned ear to ear, and instead reached over to quickly poke her in the side. She immediately jumped, a giggle escaping her.

"Okay, okay," she said, still smiling. "It's kinda sweet actually. In a weird, romantic comedy way."

"Thanks," grumbled Warren, turning away, head against his pillow. "Guest room's down the hall."

It was quiet for a moment, and didn't sound like Cameron was getting up to leave. Warren turned over, ready to ask he to kindly let him sleep in the comfort of his own bed, when Cameron's lips pressed against his, hands reaching to settle on his shoulders.

She pulled away when she felt Warren stiffen up, not at all reciprocating.

"Erm," Cameron looked embarrassed, slowly letting go of his shoulders. "I-"

"Sorry," coughed Warren, quickly backing himself up and against the headboard. "It's not you, it's just, this isn't really the best time…"

The mutant trailed off, head spinning as he scrambled off his own bed and attempted to leave. Cameron's face fell, and she looked away, and Warren felt like a jackass.

"It's okay, I should've asked first. I mean, I'm probably really trashy compared to what you're used to," she joked, shooting him a tight smile. Warren wasn't used to anything. Not with his wings, not when he was just human.

"You're not trashy," mumbled Warren, slowly making his way back to the bed. "You're…nice. You're real nice, Cameron."

"Then why didn't you kiss me back?" she questioned, voice on the edge of anger.

"To be honest," started Warren, looking down at the bed sheets. "I wanted to. I really did. But you're my friend, and we've known each other for a day, and _Christ, _I'm a virgin so this isn't really my forte."

"You," mumbled Cameron, "you think too much." She let out a small laugh before tugging him over. Warren didn't resist, laying down and allowing Cameron to sidle up to his side.

"I know," he said, arm hesitantly lifting so Cameron could move closer to him and lay against his shoulder. She was careful to mind his wings, and Warren shifted, bringing them closer to his back. For once, he did not completely curse his mutation, finding it simpler to note it was there, and that was that. Gently, Warren, inexperienced yet feeling brave, curled his arm, and his fingers brushed along her upper arm where her sleeve didn't cover.

"I'll try not to do anything weird," Cameron offered, looking up at Warren with an apologetic smile, hand moving to settle on his naked chest. "Unless you want me to."

"This is fine," Warren relaxed into her. He had spent most of the day, most of his life, tense and worried and _scared_. And he just wanted to be okay.

"This is good."

Warren pulled Cameron closer to him, staring up at his ceiling, and wishing he could stay in that moment forever, where holding someone didn't feel so damn frightening, where he wasn't some pretender. It didn't matter that he couldn't explain what he felt towards Cameron, that perhaps it wasn't what she felt for him, it didn't matter as long as they were together right now.

**:::**

**I hope you guys didn't find the Warren/Cameron thing too cliche. I didn't want to really hook them up, but I feel there was some sort of affection there (maybe too one-sided to really develop) that needed to be addressed. Let me know how you feel in reviews, thanks! **


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